


Bottom Spider

by Aragem



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Exploitation, F/F, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Prostitution, Rivalry, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Sexual Assault, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 50,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: Alternate AU where Pentagram City is on Earth.Valentino makes a wager with Angel Dust to manage five sex workers to earn his freedom.  However, the odds are stacked against Angel when the sex workers prove to be more than he ever expected.  A mother who clings to her child, a sadist wanting to see the world burn, a sneaky masochist, a rebellious cam girl, and dour fallen angel are just the beginning of Angel Dust's many headaches . . .especially when Valentino takes an interest in one of his workers.For updates, sneak peeks, and more please follow me on Twitter or Tumblr: rebelcourtesan
Relationships: Angel Dust/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino (Hazbin Hotel) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 213
Kudos: 145





	1. The Wager

When the brilliant red limo pulled up, Angel Dust knew his life was coming to an end. It had been two days, and Valentino was now ready to end him. Should he run? No, running didn’t do a damn bit of good. Val had taught him that over and over. If he could make it to the fucking moon, Valentino would don a spacesuit and follow him there in his own shiny red space ship. 

Might as well get this over with.

Dropping a cigarette on the pavement, Angel Dust grounded it out under his foot and strutted towards the limo. If this was his last walk, he would work it like he was on the runway, dammit. 

Two days . . .two days of mind-numbing waiting to see what punishment Valentino would cook up for him and the wait was finally over. A morbid part of him was curious to see what Valentino had up his sleeves. Snuff film? A gangbang of a hundred dudes? A week long torture session with a dom? Any and all of that was on the table.

He hadn’t meant to run off his mouth. It just happened as one frustrating night of dealing with Val’s bullshit. 

_ If I had your fuckin’ job, I wouldn’t be such a goddamn prick! _

The studio had gone silent as a grave. The staff had sucked in their breaths, and one asshole even went ‘oooohhhh.’ All eyes were on the Moth Pimp to see what course of action he would use to punish the mouthy spider. Instead, and much to the horror of everyone present, especially Angel Dust, the pimp threw back his head and laughed. 

_ I-if you . . .if you had my fuckin’ job? Oh, you . . .little . . . oh, you little shit. _

There was no retribution then. The Moth Pimp simply called an early end to the shoot and sent everyone home. And that terrified Angel Dust. 

What punishment did Valentino have in store that he needed two days to plan? 

The interior of the limo was surprisingly cool, and oddly, Valentino reclined alone on the seat. The call girls that usually accompanied him were absent. Damn, that didn’t bode well at all. Not that Angel Dust expected them to be of any help, but if Valentino didn’t want them around for this . . .then it had to be something horrible.

“Hello, Mista Valentino,” Angel Dust said in his most flirtatious tone. Maybe flirting and sex would ease whatever was coming.

“Shut the fuck and siddown, ya little shit,” Valentino groused.

“Of course, Mista Valentino.” Damn, he must really be in for it now.

The Moth Pimp took a long drag on a cigarette, eyes peering at the spider. “So . . . .you want my job, do ya?”

“What? No! Look, Val, I was just . . .I was just tired and . . .”

“Ran your fuckin’ mouth off at me.” Valentino’s eyes glowed hotly behind the heart frame shades. “In front of the goddamn studio.”

“Val, Daddy, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to disrespect ya like that.”

“Disrespect me, you did,” Valentino hissed, the tips of thin fingers tapped his knee. Then he smiled, a bright smile that literally stretched from ear to ear. “Well, guess what? I’m going to give ya the chance to prove it.”

“Uh, prove what?” 

“You want to do my job? Okay, sure,” Valentino shrugged with his upper arms. “You get to be me for a while.”

Angel Dust blinked. Then blinked again. It took another blink for him to find his voice. “Uh, Val . . .whattaya mean?”

“We’re gonna make a little wager,” Valentino said through his pink grin. “I got five sweethearts choosing up with me. I’m putting you in charge of them. Collect their quotas, keep ‘em in line, and handle any shit they cause. If for one month straight, they make their quotas without debt, then you get your own track to manage.”

Angel Dust went through another series of blinks. “Then . . .I won’t be your whore . . .”

“Oh, Angel Cakes, you’ll always be my whore, but if you win this wager,” Valentino said, tapping ash from the end of the cigarette. “You’ll be a whore with responsibilities other than walking the streets or performing on stage or film.”

This was . . .too good to be true. Freedom? Maybe not true freedom, but to no longer being under Valentino’s thumb was several grades up from what he was enduring now. 

“What happens if I lose?” Angel Dust crossed all four arms, eyeing Valentino with open suspicion. 

“If you can’t hack it, then you move back into the Porn Studio and work for me full time,” Valentino declared. 

A shiver went down Angel Dust’s spine. He had lived in the Porn Studio for a while, and it had been like living in prison. Valentino monitored everything he did, everything from what he ate, wore and spoke to. Every waking hour had been work: porn shoots, dancing, and clients. It had been a long dragged out fight to gain enough independence to move out into his own apartment, and the thought of losing any freedom he had fought for was galling. 

However, if he could earn more freedom . . .be part of the action again and not just a pretty face.

No, this was Valentino he was dealing with. 

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Angel Dust demanded. “They ain’t a bunch dogs, are they?”

“Now, Angel Cakes, would I do that to you?’ Valentino said as sweetly as a poisoned cupcake. He held out a file that he kept tucked away in his coat. “Take a look at them yourself. Four ladies and a fella, and all of ‘em pretty as sunshine.”

Angel Dust flipped through the file, which had photos and short dossiers on each one. A dancer, a dominatrix, a submissive, a cam girl, and a hooker; three humans, a demon, and a fallen angel, but all attractive. He didn’t see anything wrong, but he had been burned by Valentino too many times to put his hand in that fire again. 

Yet . . .yet . . .he could handle this. The workers were all seasoned and weren’t unbroken or untrained. All he had to do was make them keep doing what they’ve been doing. 

Angel Dust raised his eyes to Valentino, who was watching him like a hungry vulture. “What’s the rules? I got full control?”

There was a slight discomforted tilt of Valentino’s head, but he nodded. “Ya got six months to rein ‘em in and set ‘em straight. That means collectin’ money, puttin’ them to work, steppin’ in when a client gets outta hand.” 

Then Valentino’s predatory smile returned. “If all five go one month straight meeting quotas and no debt, you win. However, if you give up or walk away, you lose. If I have to step in because of any major fuck ups, like killin’ a john or settin’ the studio on fire, you lose. And if they got any debt at the end of six months, it’s coming out of your ass.”

There was a catch. There was always a catch somewhere, but Valentino was putting down a fair game from what he could see. He could . . .turn this down, hand back the folder and go back to the status quo of walking the streets whenever Valentino got pissed at him, doing hours of porn shoots, dancing until sweat soaked his fur . . .

“It’s a deal,” Angel Dust heard himself say. 

“Very good, darling,” Valentino crooned, pleased. “The first one arrives tomorrow at the airport at 9:00 AM. You’re gonna pick her up and make sure she reports to the nightclub for her first shift at 6:00 PM, sharp.”

“Val, if I’m gonna be doin’ this, what about my other duties . . .I know I got four arms, but even I can’t do my shit and watch over them.”

Valentino’s grin stretched so wide that Angel Dust expected the top of his head to fall off. “Oh, Angel Baby, they not only have to meet their quota, but yours as well.”

Fuck. Oh, fuckin’ hellfire. That was the catch that Valentino failed to mention before he agreed. Being a porn star, prostitute, dancer, and one of Valentino’s top earners, his quota would be considerably higher than any newcomer. Now he was feeling sick.

“However, if ya find time to earn money yourself,” Valentino said, waving a hand and causing crimson smoke to dance between his antennae. “I’ll consider it towards your quota, but not theirs.”

His life just got a lot harder. “So . . .I better get back to work then.” 

“That’s a good idea, baby.”

He felt Valentino’s eyes on him long after the limo left the curb, and he had the file tucked away in his own suit. Putting five sex workers to work shouldn’t be too hard, would it? Valentino does it every day. . .how hard would it be?

***

**Two Days Ago . . .**

To: Pimp Circle

From: Moth Pimp

_ I gotta put a mouthy bitch in his place. Looking for trade ups, but I want bitches who can’t meet their quotas for bullshit reasons. I need five troublemakers. Call me with details at my contact info, and we’ll talk. _

  
  



	2. The Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dancer arrives with a surprise.

**Three Days Ago . . .**

“Hello, Queenie, you’re calling about the email I sent?”

“Aye, but first I want to know if you’ll be paying the proper fees if I send me girl across the Pond.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve been in this business long enough to know not to jip ya. Whatcha got for me?”

“I’ve just emailed you her dossier, but I will be telling you now I’m hesitant on giving this one up.”

“One sec . . .oh, nice. I’ve been needin’ a few more redheads. What’s her deal?”

“She’s my best dancer, gets along well with the other workers and the clients love her. I dare say, there’s going to be quite a few broken hearts if she leaves.”

“Then why you offerin’ her up if she’s such a commodity?”

“Well . . .she has a big distraction . . .”

A few minutes later Valentino smiled. “I’ll take her.”

***

The plane landed thirty minutes late. For that half hour, Angel Dust smoked in the isolated smoking corner while he tracked the plane’s progress through an app. Thirty minutes late was no big deal. Planes were late all the time. It wasn’t a foreboding sign of things to come.

Angel Dust stood in the terminal with a cardboard sign with the name Bridget Walsh written in black marker, however her red hair made her easy to spot. It was curly and seemed to float about her shoulders despite her pulling it back into a ponytail. With her soft friendly features, she had the girl next door look down, but then she wasn’t exactly dressed or made up for work or the stage yet. 

Might as well get the meet and greet over with. Angel Dust held up the sign which she didn’t catch at first as her eyes were focused downward in concentration. Likely pushing luggage ahead of her. When she did notice the sign, she redirected her luggage around to head for him. 

When the crowd parted and he was able to see more of her than her head and shoulders, he saw exactly what she was pushing. And it wasn’t luggage.

“What the fuck is this?” He blurted out the question before he had a chance to consider his words. 

Her friendly smile died on her lips and an offended look arched her brows. “Excuse me?”

“What the hell is this?” He pointed down at the thing she was pushing.

The baby made a happy little burble and munched on a dry biscuit clutched in a chubby hand, completely undisturbed by Angel Dust. 

“My son.” Bridget glowered at him. 

_ And the pompous asshole didn’t bother telling me.  _ Angel Dust didn’t bother hiding a groan. “I take it you can’t put it back on the plane?”

The red haired woman put a hand against her hip in a clear sign she had gone from being offended to being pissed. “No, I bloody can’t and nor would if I could.”

Angel Dust sighed, scratched the back of his head. “Fine, let’s go. The car’s waitin’.”

***

Bridget Walsh worked for Queenie, the owner of a popular stripclub in Dublin, Ireland. Three years ago, she had been attending the Ballet School of Arts until last year a situation arose that caused her to drop out. Angel Dust was looking at the likely cause of her . . .situation. 

Connor, Bridget’s 9 month old son, teething on the biscuit with drool stringing down his chin. Angel Dust had to admit the little bastard was cute with a head of dark wispy hair and bright blue eyes with round cheeks that went red when he dropped the biscuit and whined for it.

“Mummy will get it,” Bridget said in that sing-song voice that made her pleasant sexy Irish accent come out like one of those Irish nannies in those old cartoons. Upon retrieving the biscuit from the floorboard, she asked. “This car is clean, right?”

Angel Dust shrugged. “Looks clean t’ me.”

“Clients aren’t . . .” Bridget lowered her voice as if her son wasn’t sitting on her lap and able to hear every word no matter how much she lowered her voice. “Service in this car, are they?”

“Service? Whattaya mean?” Angel Dust gave her a wicked grin.

Shooting him a hard look, she whispered, “Sex. Is this car used for sex? I want to be sure that I’m not giving my son a biscuit that’s been dipped in spunk stains.”

“Dunno. Hey, Dan, do people fuck in the backseat of this car or not?”

The driver, a craggy face demon with a broken horn, shrugged. “A few times.”

Disgusted, Bridget wrapped the biscuit into a tissue, shoved it into her purse to be thrown away later and fetched another one from a baby bag which might as well be mountain trekking gear. Impatient, Connor was at the beginning of a baby tantrum until she popped the fresh biscuit into his mouth. 

“Sooo . . .the kid . . .” Angel Dust knew this had to be addressed and maybe should have done so before leaving the airport. “Who’s gonna watch ‘im while you’re on the job?”

“I . . .I don’t know. I just got here.” Bridget was lightly patting Connor’s back. “Queenie didn’t mind letting the girls on break watch him backstage.”

“Naw, hon, no way,” Angel Dust shook his head. “That ain’t gonna cut it here on this side of the Water. In Pentagram City, kids aren’t allowed inside any adult entertainment venues.”

Pentagram City, the center for sin and hedonism had very few laws, but one of them, mandated by the King Lucifer and Queen Lillith themselves, was any child sexual abuse or adult entertainment that involved children was strictly outlawed. King Lucifer barely batted an eye at rape snuff films, but when three years ago a certain clip of a five year being sodomized circled the underground networks of Pentagram City, the perpetrators were hunted down and executed by Lucifer himself and heavy fines were paid for not reporting the incident. Even Vox and Velvet were in hot water for not catching the video on media feeds. Since then, Val issued a rule to all his strip clubs and brothels that no children were allowed anywhere near those buildings. 

_ I don’t give a fuck if they’rewaiting in the car while their daddy rubs one out on a hooker’s ass. They bring a kid, send ‘em packing.  _

Valentino has been in a particularly foul mood that week. Angel Dust wasn’t sure and didn’t dare give voice to a suspicion that Valentino may have been involved in the source of the video. The Moth Pimp loves money, but even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to risk his empire by pissing off the Magnes. 

“Then I need to find an overnight daycare center or someone I can trust to watch my son,” Bridget said in a cool tone. “Or I can’t perform tonight.” 

“Oh, you’re performing tonight, toots.” Angel Dust's grin disappeared. 

Usually, if someone wanted to piss Val off, then he saw it as no fur off his back and relieved the pimp had another sad sack to vent his frustration on. However, it would be a lot of fur off his back if Bridget didn’t perform. He could see Val’s malicious satisfied grin at how Angel couldn’t handle one dancer on the first day on the job.

“Then I suggest you find a babysitter,” Bridget retorted. “Or you can tell Mr. Valentino that I’m not available tonight.”

How would Valentino have handled this? Well, introduce Bridget to the back of his hand and, if he was in a nasty mood, toss the kid through the window. However, Angel Dust knew if he dragged Bridget to the club with a busted up face, she still wouldn’t be able to perform tonight and nor could she until her injuries healed.

“Alright, I got a sitter in mind. I’ll set it up. Just have your ass ready by 6:00 tonight.”

***

“Hi, Husky, I gotta favor . . .”

*click*

“Motherfucker,” Angel Dust growled and dialed the number again. “Oh, you’d better not have blocked my number or so help I’ll torch your goddamn bar . . .”

“Fuck off, Angel.”

“Husky, is that anyway to talk to an old friend?”

“We ain’t friends, so whattaya want? I’m in the middle of sumthin’.”

“What? Taking your second or third hair of the dog? Lissen, I need ya to watch . . .watch sumthin’ for me.”

“I told ya before and I’ll tell ya again. The last time was the last time. You want somebody to watch your pig, then find someone else . . .”

“It ain’t Fat Nuggets. It’s . . . it’s for somebody else. There’s this dancer with a baby . . .”

*click*

“Aw, goddammit.”

It took several times calling and after five minutes of the phone ringing, Husk answered. “No. Hell, no. Fuck, no. I ain’t watchin’ no baby!”

“Look, just for tonight, at least until I can find someone that can do it regular. I got a lot ridin’ on this.”

“Jesus Christ, Angel, I ain’t a babysitter!”

“Just for tonight. Promise. I’ll bring the kid over at 5:00, okay? And the girl will pay you for it and I’ll owe you a favor.”

“This ain’t gonna be cheap.”

“I gotta go . . .I’ll explain later.”

***

Just as Angel resolved one crisis another reared its ugly head. A text message from Val popped up on his phone. 

**Val:** Did you pick the girl up at the airport? Or did you get lost and gave up?

“Fuck you, Val,” Angel muttered and was tempted to text that, but wasn’t quite suicidal. 

**Angel:** Nope, just dropped her off at her new apartment. You didn’t mention the kid.

There was a long pause which Angel surmised was Val laughing his ass off.

**Val** : Really? I didn’t? I guess the kid didn’t show up on the flight ticket receipt cuz babies fly for free on planes.

**Angel** : She’ll be ready for tonight’s performance.

**Val** : Good. Look after that one. Her contract cost me a mint. BTW, the second one is arriving at 2:00 at the Down Under bus station. Pick her up and take her to the Porn Studio.

Angel stared and reread the message several times and checked the time at the top of the screen. 

**Angel** : It’s 1:45 now.

**Val** : Then you better hurry and don’t let this one get away.

“Goddammit!” 

  
  
  



	3. The Cam Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Potential triggers with discussion of past abuse. 
> 
> Angel Dust meets the second worker and her disposition may be more than he can handle.

**Three days ago …**

"Mr. Sato, it's been a while."

"Val-san, my associates have brought your email to my attention. It is my understanding that you are seeking . . .' troublemakers'?"

"Yeah, I'm teaching a little problem a lesson in manners. And what he can't handle, I can take care of later. Whatcha got for me?"

"We, ourselves, have a . . .problem too. She is . . .incorrigible. We have tried many methods of producing a more respectful manner in her, but they only seem to inflame her willfulness."

"Nothin' I hate more than a willful hoe. Outta curiosity, whatcha try doin'?"

"Beating her with a kendo stick. I've beaten her until I pulled muscles in my arm and almost did the same with my other arm."

"Damn . . .and that didn't break that little hoe?"

"Unfortunately, no. Though, I believe you will have better results."

"Oh, why ya say that?"

"You, Val-san, have four arms."

"Ahahahahahahaha, sure, I'll take her off your hands."

***

Angel Dust arrived at the Down Under nearly fifteen minutes after the bus arrived. He bailed out of the car, cursing Valentino under his breath as he surged through the disembarking crowd to look for his second responsibility: a Japanese cam girl. She was arriving with a handler to be passed off to him. And just like Bridget and her vivid red hair, he spotted her easily.

Keiko Yoshino was perched on the edge of a bench, thumbing away at a smartphone with earbuds tucked into her ears, and blowing a large pink bubble of gum which popped across her lips. Drawing it into her mouth with loud annoying smacks, she ignored him as he approached. 

Standing guard over her was a tall man wearing a gray suit and hair neatly slicked back. Angel Dust appreciated how handsome he looked, and it almost eased the irritation of dealing with Val's bullshit. 

At least until the man gave him a disapproving look. "You are late."

"Oh, it's never too late to get acquainted," Angel Dust winked.

The man returned his flirtation with a confused look.

"Hah! Don't bother," Keiko muttered, listening in despite the earbuds buzzing in her ears. "Hoshi's nutsack belongs to his wife and his dick belongs to the slut he caught chlamydia from last month."

Hoshi snapped something in Japanese at her, and she responded in kind, but with her middle finger raised in defiance. With anger lining his face, Hoshi turned to Angel Dust. "I shall fetch her luggage. It will not take me long, then she . . .will go with you."

_ I know he almost said, then she will be your problem.  _ Angel could only shrug and enjoy the sight of Hoshi's ass as he walked away before he was alone with Keiko.

“So . . .K-Chan? Is that your . . .stage name?”

"No, asshole. It's my cam name. Stage names are for twats who prance around onstage. Kinda like you." 

_ How much trouble would I be in if Keiko showed up at the Porn Studio with a black eye?  _ Angel thought but managed to resist the urge for violence. Keiko's English was pretty good, with only a slight accent, which made her sound younger. Arching an eyebrow, Angel Dust asked, "How . . .how old are you?"

"Don't worry, I'm years over the legal age," Keiko replied, her eyes never lifting from her phone. "But to my followers, I've been sixteen for the last five years."

Keiko had set up her own cam account when she was sixteen and drew in over 50,000 followers in her country alone. When her father went into gambling debt with the yakuza, they recognized her as the popular K-Chan and hired her to work for them until her family's debt was cleared. 

Angel Dust wondered if Keiko was so popular and made so much money, then why the hell was she still in debt? Wasn't she meeting her quotas? 

"Look, this has been an enlightening conversation," Keiko said, finally lowering her phone so she could perform air quotes. "But I got to take a piss. I'll be right back."

"Fine, whatever," Angel Dust muttered.

Keiko left for the restroom with her head bowed over her phone. Angel leaned against the wall with bottom arms crossed, and the top hands checked for any messages from Val. Nothing so far, no big surprises or snide remarks about the job. At least this little bitch didn't bring a kid along.

A minute passed, and Hoshi returned with two large bags under his arms. He looked at where Keiko had been sitting and then looked directly at Angel. "Where is she?"

"The restroom," Angel shrugged. When Hoshi suddenly dropped the bags as his mouth dropped, he stepped away from the wall startled. "What?" 

"Did Val-san not tell you?"

_ Oh, fuck!  _

"Tell me what!?"

"She runs away. She does it so often, Aniki punishes her by increasing the debt each time."

**_Val_ ** _ : Then you better hurry and don't let this one getaway. _

"Aw shit," Angel Dust turned on his heel and ran for the bathroom at top speed. 

One good thing about having a feminine figure was that no one questioned it whenever he went into the women's restroom, so the only odd looks he received was for running. He dashed inside in time to see two skinny legs hanging from the small window scrambling for purchase against the wall. 

"Get the fuck outta the window," Angel yelled, crossing the restroom and seizing one of the legs. 

"Fuck off, creep! Eat my ass!" The other leg hitched and kicked Angel Dust soundly across the shoulder. 

He managed to haul her from the window with all four arms before she could take another kick at him. And since she was barely over five feet and he was seven feet and with an extra set of arms, he carried her along with little problem. 

"Help! Rape! Rape!" Keiko screamed though it sounded more angry than scared. 

"Shut the fuck up! This is Pentagram City. No one gives a shit!"

"Oh, fuck you, Pinkie!"

He carried Keiko kicking back to the bench where Hoshi was waiting with the luggage. "Ya sure you don't want to take this back?"

"No. Aniki said I am not to return with her at all," Hoshi said with the utmost serious tone. "And he said I am to give you this."

He held out a long black bag, and when Angel Dust took it, he could feel something long and hard inside. A kendo stick. 

"Hey! Don't give that to him! He's gonna stick it up his ass!" Keiko had been craning around his arms to see what Hoshi was doing. 

"I must take my leave. The next bus will leave shortly," Hoshi said, and after a quick bow, he departed (fled).

"Fuckin' bullshit," Angel muttered as he collected the rest of the luggage, having to pop out his extra arms to do so and carried them and Keiko to the car. 

***

"Yes, Angel Cakes?"

"Val, I got . . .You better quit fuckin' with that radio!"

"Oh, eat my ass, Pinkie!" 

"Dan! Turn it the fuck off!"

"Yessir, Angel Dust."

"You can eat my ass too!"

Valentino settled back into his lounge chair and enjoyed the sounds of Angel Dust wrestling to contain a virulent cam girl. There was a sharp cry of pain before things settled down enough for Angel to resume the call. 

"Angel, what was that?" Val inquired with a tut-tut in his tone. "You didn't bruise my new cam girl before she goes live, did you?"

"No! That was Dan! She burned him with the car cigarette lighter."

"Oh no," Val said in mock concern. "She sounds like a handful. Do you need me to step in?"

"No! I got this!"

"Are you sure?" Val said, preening his neck ruffle. "There's no shame in calling it quits now. I'll have your new room waiting for you . . ."

"No, no, I ain't giving up. I just had a rough start is all."

Sighing loud enough to be heard through the line, Val mused, "I don't know . . .you're having an awful hard time with just two workers. You might need to become a 'goddamn prick' to pull it off."

There was a short pause from the other end before Angel Dust said evenly, "I'm gonna get Keiko t' the Porn Studio, then I will get Bridget t' the club. I'll have them both earning t' night."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Val said and hung up before Angel could respond. 

  
  


__


	4. The Babysitter

After depositing Keiko into her room at the Porn Studio and ensuring the door was locked while she kicked it and denounced his parentage loud enough for everyone outside in the hall to hear, he went about the next task of getting Bridget's ass to the club.

Thankfully, she was ready to go when he arrived with the car. The only annoyance was the damn baby. Bridget had the baby standing on her lap, holding onto his arms and hands, and made faces at him the whole way to the hotel. It was followed by irritating noises and singsong talking.

"Aren't you a lovely lad," Bridget sang, giving Connor a bounce on her knees. "You're a bonnie, bonnie lad."

"You're gonna start singing a Scottish ballad, Red?" Angel Dust muttered.

Bridget shot him a hard look. "We're Irish."

"What the difference?" Not that Angel cared, but since he had been aggravated all day, he was more than willing to share it with others. 

"Ireland and Scotland are two separate countries with different backgrounds and cultures. Comparing Ireland and Scotland is like comparing Japan and China."

"There's a difference there too?"

"Nevermind,” she said exasperated. 

When the car pulled up in front of the hotel, Angel threw open the door. "Alright, hand me the . . .what are you doing?"

Bridget had her door opened. "I'm going inside with you."

"Nah, Red, just stay in the car."

"No, I need to go in to tell them when to feed Connor and his bedtime and give them my contact information in case something happens."

"Nothin' is gonna happen t' the kid." Angel was eager to get her to the club as soon as possible. 

"I still want to go inside." She hefted the baby onto her hip and slipped outside while shouldering the oversized baby bag.

"Dammit," Angel hissed as he followed her out of the car. 

He hoped Charlie or Vaggie were gone for the night or at least wouldn't be downstairs. They would ask so many questions he didn't have the time nor wish to answer. If they found out he was actually functioning as a pimp himself, they may well kick him out of the hotel. At least Bridget was walking into a clean lobby, thanks to Nifty so she shouldn't have much to bitch about that. 

Husk was in his usual spot behind the counter, polishing a glass with a cloth and quirked a brow at them. "Is that the kid?"

Bridget blinked, shifting Connor on her hip. "I'm here to drop my son off with a sitter."

"That's me."

Bridget blinked again. "Excuse me?"

"I'm the guy this bastard called in for a favor and I am gettin' paid for this right?" 

Then angry green eyes turned to Angel Dust with an accusatory flame. To Husk, she said, "Yes, but . . .are you qualified to look after a baby?"

Shrugging, Husk nonchalantly replied. "I'm good enough to watch this guy's pet pig."

"You expect me to drop my son off with someone that babysits pigs?"

"Hey, don't say pigs like it's a bad thing. Fat Nuggetz is as precious as gold," Angel Dust muttered. "Just hand the kid over . . ."

"Angel, I can't. . ."

"Yes, ya can, toots, cuz if your ass is not on the stage t' night then it's coming out of my ass. Now kiss your kid goodbye and let's go."

Bridget scanned the lobby from the bar with its shelves of booze to a disinterested Husk with razor-sharp bear claws to the ominous feel of the place as if the shadows were watching. Every maternal instinct was raising red flags and ringing alarms. With an exasperation that bordered on desperation, she reached into her phone. 

"I'm giving you my phone number and I'll expect a text message with a picture of my son every thirty minutes so I know he's safe. And if there's even a scratch on him, I'm not paying a damn penny."

At this last bit, she dubiously eyed Husk's claws.

"Fine. He'll be in the pig pen the whole time."

Bridget's eyes went wide, and before she could speak, Angel Dust plucked Connor from her arms, and drew the baby bag off her shoulder, and handed them both over to Husk. "Thanks, Husky, I owe ya big. C'mon, Red, we gotta go. I'll text him your info on the way."

Husk watched Angel just about carry the red-haired woman out of the hotel lobby. She peered over her shoulder in motherly misery that could only happen if they were watching their baby sailing into dangerous waters and out of reach.

Shrugging, Husk looked at the baby on the counter, supported with his hands. "What the fuck was that all about?"

"Bleh!" Connor replied, enthralled with the cat demon's eyebrows.

***

It was to no small relief for Angel when they arrived behind the club. Bridget got out of the car, clutching a bag with her, and before she shut the door, she asked, "Aren't you coming in with me?"

"Why? The door's right there," Angel Dust said, leaning back with his upper hands folded behind his head and lower across his stomach. 

"But . . .I don't know who the manager is and who to talk to about my act. . ."

Angel Dust cut her off with a dry laugh. "Yer just gonna swing around on a pole and wriggle your ass. Don't get high and mighty callin' it an act."

A long deep breath was drawn through Bridget's pert nose, and as she exhaled, she said, "You are not professional."

She said it in such a way that told him that there were a lot of other things that went unsaid. He shrugged, dismissing it all as he was done for the night. Dan can come back and pick her up from her shift and take her home. He would go club hopping to ease the stress he's endured since he rolled out of bed. 

"Whatever, Red," he muttered with an eye roll.

Later, much later, Angel Dust realized that he should have stayed and seen her act. Perhaps if he had, then he could have gotten ahead of all the trouble that came afterwards. 


	5. The Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Nudity and sensuality is rampant in this chapter.
> 
> You can see the mood board I created for this chapter on Tumblr: https://rebelcourtesan.tumblr.com/post/631626464310198272/rebelcourtesan-mood-board-about-an-upcoming

Crimson smoke hovered the air above the private table. It was set on an upper level, which provided a near overhead view of the club and stage. A topless waitress set three glasses on the table with a flirtatious smile before silently walking away, barely noticed by the demons talking.

"So let me get this straight," Vox said, electric blue claws waving the air, reflecting in the flatscreen of his face. "You put Angel Dust in charge of five hoes? And if he can keep them in line and get their quotas for one month straight, you'll give him a track to manage?"

"Yeah." Valentino was thumbing a text and smoking while his lower arms around two high-class hookers he wore like arm candy. Tonight's flavor was a bird-woman with brilliant blue feathers on her arms and shoulders and a minx with a long furry tail coiled around her legs. They did their jobs well by being silent, pretty, and cuddling up to Valentino while occasionally providing sexual favors to guests. 

"And you got five problematic hoes?" Vox snickered. "Oh, Val, you are a sadist."

"The little shit disrespected me enough times," Valentino muttered, casting a glare in Vox's direction. "I coulda smacked the shit outta him, but then he'd turn around and do it again." With a malicious grin, he added, "And today has been fuckin' entertainin'."

Vox looked down at his phone at the table which played Keiko's live feed (aka K-Chan’s Bedroom). "I don't get it. All she's doing is sitting on the bed and texting? How is that making you money?"

"What camera are you looking at?"

"Camera 1."

"Try Camera 2 or 3."

A moment later. "Oh. She's not wearing any underwear. And people pay just to peek under a girl's skirt?"

"Oh, baby, you'll be surprised what gets people off," Valentino grinned. "This is just her downtime. Later, she'll take requests and unbox a new dildo and try it out. Fridays nights are Game Nights where she plays a video game while being fucked."

"And this one is so hard to handle that the yakuza don't want her?" Vox closed out the app and lit up his own cigarette, which created a streamer of blue smoke mingled with the crimson smoke above their heads. 

Valentino shrugged his upper shoulders. "I'll deal with her if she causes any fuckin' trouble for me, but in the meantime, she can make Angel Cakes' life shit."

"And the other one is here in the club?" Vox took a pull from his scotch, the ice rattling in the glass as he set it down. 

"She belonged to dear old Queenie of Ireland who said this one was her best girl. Likely means she knows how to swing on a pole without fallin' off."

"And what's wrong with this one?"

"Had a baby."

"So she has saggy bits?"

"Maybe. They got low standards over in Europe so who knows what's going to come out on stage."

The DJ's voice echoed across the club, deep and smooth like oil. "Next up is a newcomer from across the Pond, Grace. She will be 'gracing' us with her presence in just five minutes."

"That's her," Valentino muttered. "I suppose it's better than Cookie or Trixie."

There was a slight pout from one of the girls that vanished within a second and were noticed only because Vox had an eye for details. He guessed her name was either Cookie or Trixie.

The lights dimmed to near darkness with only the floor lights' violet glow, which switched off as the music began. Oddly, it wasn't a fast drumbeat, heavy brass, or burlesque horns which usually accompanied the stripper’s acts. It was a haunting melody performed with acoustic music, and a soft female vocals.

The curtains spread open, and a bright light flared like the sun, almost blindingly and dimmed, allowing the eyes to focus on the figure squatting on the floor in front of the pole. Upon first glance, one would think she was balanced on the tips of her toes, but as the light dimmed, it was revealed she was wearing flesh-colored ballet pointe shoes. 

A white dress clung to her body, showing off a slender dancer's body with fine legs bent showing off the beautiful curve of thighs. A mane of brilliant red curls cascaded down her back and across her hips, glowing like a sunset. With a fluidity that defied gravity, she rose on pointe, hands held upward as the sheer skirt fell across her thighs. One could see through the cloth and between her thighs' sweet apex with the light behind her. Small breasts heaved, and hard nipples stood out like pearls against the criss-cross top.

"Holy fucking shit . . ." Vox whispered. There was no sag on that body. 

Valentino's eyes were round orbs behind the heart framed shades. The tip of his cigarette flared to life.

She pirouetted to the pole with elegant motion, and using the inertia of movement, she spun onto the pole into a simple, but perfect swan slide. With a river of curls sailing behind her, she gave the impression of flight as she worked the pole with graceful strength and poise. It was basic pole dancing, but there was no quiver or visible struggle in her body as she seemingly floated with only her grip on the pole anchoring her. It was like watching an ethereal apparition floating or an exotic bird gliding on the air. When she left the pole and descended onto the runway, she took the steps with balletic grace. 

Valentino leaned forward, chin propped on a hand, and cigarettes tucked in the corner of his mouth. His other arms were folded on the table, leaving the hookers dejected behind them, almost naked without his arms or hands on them. His attention was focused solely on the dancer, assessing and measuring her body, motion, and attitude. 

She took the dance to the floor, hands trailing across her chest and down her thighs, in the semblance of a girl exploring herself for the first time. Eyes followed her hands as they slid down her open inner thighs, the skirt rising up to her hips. Then she rose into a kneel, hands drawing the top off her shoulders, and when she rose up to her feet, it fell like a second skirt behind her, leaving pert breasts bare. Gooseflesh rippled across her body, beneath the glitter at her shoulders and hips. Silver around her eyes brought out the jade of her eyes, and dark eyeliner enhanced the almond shape. There was an intensity, a visceral demand in them, which Valentino read as 'fuck me eyes.' 

When the dance had reached its crescendo, as an innate instinct Valentino knew every patron attracted to women wanted to fuck her. Yet, her performance took it more profound than that. It did the job of a striptease to arouse the audience, but it also drew them into a fantasy of the promise of companionship, devotion, and love. Her dance told them if you give this girl what she wants, she will give you everything she had : body, heart, and soul. 

It was sex wrapped in longing, love, and innocence. And Valentino can taste it in his mouth as if it were hard candy breaking between his teeth and releasing a sweet cream across his tongue. 

At the climax, she unraveled the cloth around her waist, revealing that her dress was actually one long unstitched cloth like a sari. She presented herself nude save for the white thong, but it blended so well with pale skin that she might as well be. The cloth twirled with her as she quickened her dance, showing off the fluent spin on pointe. With perfectly controlled positions of her arms and legs, she retreated towards the pole. 

A predatory smile drew Valentino's lips from his teeth as the lithe figure reflected in his shades. Taking a short drag, he blew a trail of crimson smoke. It flew with purpose over the heads of enthralled patrons to the dancer who was in the middle of a chaine turn, It revolved around her waist like a comet, leaving a trail of smoke, and when she stopped, arms raised and one leg back, the heart shape bullet kissed her right nipple. 

To his pleasure, she responded with a sudden short breath as her chest hitched, but she maintained the position with disciplined poise, not breaking character or the illusion. The crowd roared, money fluttered, and whistles rent the air as the curtain rolled back into place, hiding her from view.

Valentino was quick to summon the club's manager and gave orders. "Private dances with Grace are double the price. I doubt anyone in this club can afford it, but they're gonna hafta fuckin' pay her rates if they want a piece of her."

"I can afford her," Vox muttered under his breath. 

"Shut up, Voxy, I'm working here," Valentino groused over his shoulder. "And have Grace meet me in my private room at the end of her shift."

"Oh, sure, you get to have her." Vox rolled his eyes.

With a leering grin, Valentino thumped Vox's screen face with a finger. "Don't worry, babe, I ain't gonna leave you blue balled. Girls, take care of him."

On cue, the hookers went to Vox with seductive hands and lips. Valentino ground out his spent cigarette in an ashtray and left the table. His stride was long and slow, but his mind was working in high gear. Queenie may have thought she tossed him a sour lemon, but he was about to make some fucking lemonade. 


	6. The Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentino and Bridget, the Dancer, have a talk. 
> 
> Potential Triggers for sexual content, manipulation, and exploitation.

The changing room was empty save for a few strippers coming in for the late shift. A slim-waisted demon with brilliant green skin was rimming his amber eyes in thick black eyeliner while a black woman squeezed into skin-tight leggings with the inner thighs cut out. They barely gave her a glance as Bridget deposited her takings into an assigned locker. 

Queenie had been right about Pentagram City as the customers paid well for sex, even private dances. She'd only have to endure the handsy clients, but it was no different than Queenie's Palace. Even after she paid her dues to the club, she would have more money than she ever made dancing for Queenie. 

Holding the money with her own hands, counting each bill, and stashing it away assured everything was going to be alright. Tomorrow she could go out and buy groceries, a crib and clothes for Connor, and put in an order for new pointe shoes. The current ones were still in good shape, but having an extra pair on hand was one less worry for the future. 

On her phone were two new pics from Husk, the irritant cat bartender. One was of Connor sitting on the floor, eyes large and round behind a dodie. The second one was of him on a blanket sleeping with a silver spoon beneath his nose, proving that he was breathing. 

**Husk:** Still alive. You got my money?

Bridget sighed and texted back: Yes. My shift is almost over. I'll be there soon to get him. Thank you.

Maybe she had to give that damn spider some credit for finding her a sitter, but she had never met someone so rude or unprofessional before, and she was a stripper! 

As she put the phone away, the manager, a nervous looking man with a stringy toupee, approached her. "Grace . . .before you leave, go to Mr. Valentino's private room."

"Why?"

"Mr. Valentino asked for you. His private room is at the back of the club. Through those doors and take the stares up at the end of the hall." The manager gave the said doors a furtive glance. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but he closed it with his lips in a tight line. As he walked away, he added, "Don't keep him waiting."

***

Valentino entertained special guests and conducted special meetings in this private room, sometimes at the same time. For now, though, it was just him, reclined in a deep cushion chair fitted for his size with a glass of scotch in hand. Smoke filled the air above his head, wafting against the heart shaped neon light that cast a violet glow across the room. 

He was comfortable here as a predatory animal in its den. And like said animal, he perked when he heard the sound of movement outside the door. It swung open, spilling light across the floor from the hall, and was cut off as the door closed behind the dancer. 

He supposed the stage name did suit her performance. Even now, with her furtive glances and tense body language, he thought of a bird about to take flight. He could almost smell the fear on her skin, and it brought back a hunger that made him take a deep drag on his cigarette, consuming the nicotine to sate it for the moment. 

"Don't be scared, sugar," he said, breaking the silence. "We're just goin' t' talk a bit."

"I-is s-something wrong?" 

"Nothing's wrong, sweet heart. Have a seat and a drink if you're parched. You've been working hard t' night."

He studied her through the haze of crimson smoke. The girl was sitting prim and proper; back straight, knees together, and hands folded on her lap, just like a little lady. There was no slouch in her shoulders, and even her ankles were pressed together. He recalled a saying from his youth of how you can tell the difference between a hoe and a lady by how they sit. Hoes show off what they got, but ladies hid their secrets behind locked knees.

And this one was different from the other dancers. He had seen plenty of her body during her performance, but what he didn't see was any tattoos, body piercings, or even signs of addiction. Her eyes weren't bloodshot, nor were there any needle tracks in her arms, though some hookers were clever about injecting between the toes and fingers to keep their bodies in a clean appearance, yet he was suspecting Grace was actually clean. 

"When did you start dancin', sweet heart?" 

"I've. . . I've been dancing since I was four," she replied, her voice was musical with a slight Irish accent. "I started stripping about . . . about eight months ago."

Relatively new to the job, but danced like she owned the goddamn stage. "How did you come to work for Queenie?"

"Queenie's sister . . .we used to dance together in the Ballet Arts school. She recommended me and Queenie hired me."

So this fine piece of ass and talent had been wasted in the Catholic dominant island country of Ireland with its strict laws regarding sex work. It must have chapped Queenie's ass to have so much potential wasted because of her country's laws and cut her losses by selling Grace's contract to Valentino.

"What is your name, darling?" 

"Bridget Walsh."

"C' mere, Bridget." A black gloved hand crooked a finger. "Come closer so I can get a look at you."

There was hesitation, a twitch of the lips, and a slight rise of the brows, but she left the seat. Opening his hand in invitation, he was satisfied when she gave him hers. Long thin fingers curled around the delicate bones and skin, feeling the fragility there. Humans were good and all, but they were so damn breakable. A slight squeeze and bruises that would last for days would form. Any more pressure, and it would break. 

_ Gentle, gentle,  _ the words rolled around in his mind like a warning. He drew her to sit next to him. As she began to take her ladylike sit with knees together, he put a hand on her knee, preventing them from closing completely. If this little lady had secrets, he was going to learn of them tonight. 

With a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face for a closer study. Soft features with a delicate jaw and pert nose. With sharp eyes, he could see the light sprinkle of freckles across her nose, easily covered with makeup, but still charming to see. Almond shape eyes had a bit of a feline appreciation with the deep jade color and eyeliner. Lips were tender as rose petals complimented the rest of her. No acne scarring nor hole piercings, save for the small silver balls in her earlobes. Her hair was thick with lively curls that hung down her back and arms like an auburn curtain. Definitely not a wig or extensions, real, just like the rest of her. She was curiously wholesome and clean, like the girl someone could show off to their folks and she would be openly accepted as a daughter in law. 

"You ever do anything more than 'dance' for clients, sugar?" He exhaled a miasma of crimson smoke that drifted into the air, casting the violet light into an almost pink glow. 

The jet black pupils dilated, and jade green eyes drifted to the side. "Yes, a few times."

A few times? Queenie played by her country's rules, toeing the legal line, and prostitution was outlawed. A knowing grin slashed his face, cutting through the smoke. Oh, this little lady did have secrets, after all. "You were workin' on the side, weren't you, sugar? Without Queenie knowin'?"

"I . . .only on nights when I didn't make enough money when I needed it." She was visibly uncomfortable with the topic, looking away and arms crossed as if fending off the cold. 

The thought of a hoe side hustling galvanized him, but he swallowed it down. That had been Queenie's fault for not keeping up with her workers, and he was going to set some ground rules for this one. 

"Baby, look at me." Taking her jaw between thumb and fingers and giving them a slight squeeze, he said, "I don't give a fuck about what you did before. Queenie's in the past, and I am your present and future. No side hustles, sweetheart, if it don't through from me, it don't fuckin' happen."

There was a small tremble in the lower lip, and her eyes were almost tearful. "Yes, sir."

He released the pressure, satisfied that the law was laid down. Now to add some balm to the hurt feelings. "Oh, sugar, don't be sad, you did real good tonight. You made it rain like a fuckin' typhoon out there."

"Th-thank you, sir."

Sir? Well, this one has been taught some manners. A growing suspicion was rising in the back of his mind. "How long have you been . . .sexual active?"

The question took her off balance, but she answered without having to consider or think back. "Two years."

Valentino blinked. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four." She was fidgeting with her hands, a thumb and forefinger rubbed the ring finger of her right hand. 

Another blink. She had sex for the first time when she was twenty-two? How? How does that happen with a girl like this? Had she been locked in a cage by her parents? 

"You never had any boyfriends in school, sugar?"

"We couldn't have boyfriends . . .I went to an all girl Catholic boarding school until I went to Ballet Arts."

She might as well have been locked in a cage then. "With nuns and shit?"

"Th-there were nuns. . ."

All the pieces were falling into place. Sitting like a lady, manners, and clean appearance all stemmed from the Catholic’s rigid control, and no doubt, this boarding school also served as a charm school. If Ireland grew girls like this one, he could see why they wanted to lock 'em up with nuns beating the heathen lusts from their bodies and minds.

And if this girl only discovered sex so late at age twenty-two, holy shit . . .that explained the performance's fuck me eyes. 

Experimentally, his hand, which had been curled on her knee, slowly opened and curled around her leg, just above the knee cap. Sharp fingertips teasing the smooth, sensitive flesh at the bend of her knee. Her chest rose at the sudden gasp, but there was no drawing away, nor did her knees slap together. A pink flush spread across her cheeks and her lips pressed together before white teeth bit the lower lip. When he withdrew his hand, there was a disheartened exhalation through her nose. 

Valentino's mind began firing on all cylinders, the part of him that made him a successful pimp celebrated the opportunity presented him. The only visible sign of his excitement was the slight tremble in the cigarette.

Fuck lemonade. He had just struck fucking gold. He may just call Queenie to gloat later. 

The Catholic church had indoctrinated this little girl to appease a higher power, which would be him, and instilled discipline to follow orders. She had a nice clean wholesome look to attract a wide variety of clientele, but having discovered sex after being sexually repressed since adolescence, she had a hunger for it. It was there in her body as she danced, and he had no doubt that when she left the stage, she had been wetting her thong, and he saw it now in the flush on her cheeks.

"Sweetheart, ever thought about becoming a star?"

***

_ Queenie's office was small and crowded with a filing cabinet and a large desk with only enough space for two chairs. When Bridget opened the door, she had to squeeze inside to take a seat. Queenie was sitting at the desk, grinding out a cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. _

_ "Hello, dearie," Queenie grinned, which came across as gritting her teeth. She was an aging fifty year old woman who clung to her blonde hair through bleach blonde treatments, but lately, the gray had been creeping back at her temples. "You pulled in a big haul tonight?" _

_ "Yes, ma'am," Bridget replied. "You wanted to see me?" _

_ "Aye, I did. It's. . .important , so please close the door behind you and have a seat." _

_ Bridget had only been in Queenie's office once before, and that was when she asked to audition. Back then, the office had been cleaner, more orderly, but now it was covered in unpaid bills, receipts, and payrolls. Her fingers itched to give it some order, to put the papers into neat stacks and organized them. However, since it wasn't her space, she kept her hands firmly on her lap.  _

_ Queenie leaned back in her chair and regarded Bridget with grey eyes. She had been pretty once before age and drugs took their toll. High cheekbones told a tale of once aristocratic features, but the winkles took over, and age lines spread like vines around the eyes. _

_ "I'm just going to come out and say it, dear heart," Queenie said, tapping another cigarette from a pack. "Someone made an offer on your contract and its good money." _

_ Bridget swallowed. Last week, Queenie had told her that due to the increased taxes on adult entertainment, she would have to let girls go, and those with contracts would be offered up to other employers. "W-who?" _

_ "It's good money, honey. Pays well and you'll be safe and protected over there . . ." _

_ "Where am I going?" _

_ Queenie lit her cigarette and took a short drag. "Pentagram City to a bloke called Valentino." _

_ The demon capital of the world, where sinners, those who failed to get into Heaven, reside. A lawless place governed by King Lucifer's offhanded rule, the first fallen angel, and Queen Lillith, the Original Sinner. All the air went out of her lungs at the thought of going to such a place.  _

_ Seeing her reaction, Queenie was quick to add, "I know, I know . . .but it's damn good money. You'll make more dancing over there for one night then in a week here." _

_ "Does . . .does he know . . ." Bridget nervously twisted a strand of her hand between quivering fingers. _

_ "It's stipulated in the contract that you're a dancer only," Queenie said, holding up a copy of the said contract. "And I explained that to him over the phone, but that doesn't mean he won’t try to get you in front of a camera . . .and there is really, really good money to be had there too." _

_ "No, I mean about Connor." _

_ "Oh, yes. He's going to provide you and Connor protection while you work for him in Pentagram City so you have nothing to worry about." _

_ “I . . .I don’t know . . .”  _

_ "Honey, if you really don't want to go, then I'm not going to force you," Queenie said maternally, giving Bridget a grandmotherly smile. "But I wouldn't suggest it if it wasn't in your best interest. Working for Valentino pays really well and if you agree to go on camera then you'll pay off your contract with enough saved up to live comfortably. And why not put some aside for Connor's education too while you're at it?" _

_ Bridget rubbed the ring finger of her right hand in thought. "I . . .I don't. . .can I think about it?" _

_ "I need an answer within the next few minutes or Valentino goes elsewhere for his new dancer." _

_ Drawing a breath, Bridget nodded. "Alright." _

_ "Excellent! Let me call him up right now and tell him the good news. You can go home now. I'll text you the details later." _

_ Bridget hadn't left Queenie's Palace before being texted a copy of a plane ticket receipt along with instructions that she was to meet a pink spider demon named Angel Dust at the airport. _

_ *** _

"I've never done porn before." It felt as if her bones were replaced by lead. It was hard to focus, to think. The smoke smelled good, but it was overwhelming, like breathing in thick steam. Her skin became sensitive, registering sensations faster than her mind could think.

"Everyone starts out as an amateur at first." Fingers stroked her cheek, a furry cuff tickled her chin. 

"I made a lot of money dancing tonight."

"And it's enough money?" A hand tightened on her shoulder, fingertips pressing into the flesh, not painful, but enough to indent the flesh. "I looked over our contract and it's a lot of money you owe . . .how'd you rack up such a debt?"

"Hospital and treatments . . ."

"For whom? Yourself?" A hand trailed down her back, almost assessing like a trainer would a horse's flank. 

"N-no." She was rubbing the ring finger of her right hand, hard enough to make the skin pink. Tears pricked her eyes as painful emotions filled her chest and squeezed her throat. 

"Shhhhh, it's alright, sugar," His voice was a low purr, soft and full of understanding and compassion. Strong arms drew her against soft fur and velvet, and something inside her broke open. Tears flowed as the pain of the last year rolled from her. "It's alright, princess, Daddy Val is gonna take care of you." 

All four arms cradled her and it . . .it felt good. Stress, worry, anxiety, and dread all melted away from her when she drew a deep breath, taking in the scent of smoke and musk of cologne, and released it in a long sigh and relaxed. 

"Tomorrow, we'll do a photoshoot." Hands gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. "It's smilin' for the camera and showin' off nothing more than what you did on stage."

A voice at the back of her mind protested, but gratitude and willingness to repay kindness encouraged her to nod. "Yes, sir."

She was rewarded with a wide smile. "Good girl. We're gonna hafta change your stage name too. Nothin' wrong with Grace, but I think you deserve a better name than that. How about Princess?"

Grace had been a name she chose because no other stripper in Queenie's Palace had it. It was a small sacrifice, and if it made him happy, then all the better. "Yes, sir. Princess is good."

"Yes, she is." Her head was raised by a handful of hair, and fingers traced the edge of her jaw. "This is the beginnin' of something beautiful, Princess."

***

Her head was light headed, and it took several minutes of breathing clean air to clear it. Her body felt hot as if she spent time in front of a heater set to high. Sitting down in the changing room, it was some time before she was able to think clearly. Her emotions were raw and chaotic, ranging from outright terror to euphoria. 

Did she really agree to doing nude shots? It was hard to remember what happened in that room with Valentino. It came to her in vague images save for what happened at the end.

"The shoot’s at 10:00 tomorrow morning," Val said.

"Mr. Valentino . . ."

"Call me Daddy, sugar. Or Big Vee or Val."

“Oh, um . . .I thought that . . .I thought Angel Dust was going to be my manager."

There was a twitch behind the heart shaped shades. There was a long pause that lasted until she began to fear she had offended him. He took a long drag on the cigarette. "Angel Dust's job is to collect your quota and keep you on schedule, but I'm the one that makes the schedule. He's. . ." there was a shrug on the upper shoulders. "He's gonna pick you up for the shoot."

"I . . .I can take a cab."

"Cabs aren't reliable in Pentagram City and it's his fuckin' job to get you where you need to be." 

"Oh." 

He picked up on something in her voice. "You don't like Angel, sugar?"

"I don't. . .dislike him," she said, uncomfortable as she didn't like talking about people behind their backs. 

"Angel Dust is a rude shit, ain't he?"

Unable to deny that, she nodded. "He's a little crass."

"Don't let 'im bother you none." Val exhaled a long stream of smoke. It coiled against the neon light into a heart shape. "I'll deal with 'im if he fucks up. Now go clean out your locker. Tomorrow night, you'll be dancin' at my other club, Pandora's Box."

Now she was changing into her jeans and blouse. She checked her phone and gasped at the time. She had been talking with Valentino for almost an hour after her shift had ended. There were text messages from the cat.

**Husk** : Kid still alive.

**Husk** : Hey, where are you?

**Husk** : I swear to fuck if you have abandoned this kid with me . . .

**Husk** : I ain't adopting this kid. He's going outside with the garbage bins if you don't come get him.

She quickly texted back: Do not put my baby outside with the garbage! I am on my way right now!

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, we go back to Angel Dust and antics!


	7. The Lobby

"So is your jizz leaking down her leg?"

"Jealous, Voxy?"

"The good question is who I should be jealous of?" Vox's jacket was hanging over the backseat of the limo, and his bowtie hung loose down his chest. The air was filled with his cigar's ozone smell, where a stream of blue smoke rose to the ceiling. 

Valentino settled next to him, self-satisfaction evident on his face by the leering grin with the gold tooth gleaming. "Me. I found a new star."

"Oh?" Vox quirked an electric blue eyebrow. "She's that good?"

"She will be," Val promised. He stretched out on the opposite seat of the limo, upper arms over the extended headrest and lower arms crossed lazily over his stomach. "By the time I finish with her, people are gonna pay thousands just to sip wine from her pussy."

Vox considered this for a moment, inspecting his blue talons and then with a wicked grin, "Just as long as Angel Dust don't fuck it up. Isn't he her manager?"

Val's grin diminished as he gave the TV Demon a sidelong glance. "He ain't gonna fuck this up. If he does, then I'm gonna fuck up his whole world."

***

It was through a haze of drugs and alcohol that Angel Dust barely registered his phone buzzing in his pocket. It took several tries before he managed to wrangle it out off the nightstand to see the screen. 

**Val** : Change of plans for tomorrow.

**Val** : Swing by and pick up Bridget on your way to pick up the two newbies from the train station.

**Val** : Have the three of them in the studio by 10:00 sharp.

**Val** : Do not fuck this up.

**Val** : And don't forget. You're scheduled for a porno shoot tomorrow. Feel free to miss it and owe the difference later.

It was hard to read as his vision kept losing focus. When he managed to read each one, he yawned and laid his head back on the pillow and cuddled Fat Nuggets under his arm. 

Fuck Val and fuck the wager. He just wanted to get some sleep before he dealt with whatever shit was coming his way tomorrow. 

***

Downstairs, Husk was playing a game of solitaire when the front doors opened. However, instead of the red-headed dame, the princess and her girlfriend returned from a date. Husk resumed his game, hoping they'd keep going without acknowledging him . . .no such luck.

They were both wearing dresses with heels. Charlie cut a nice figure in a red dress while Vaggie went with a sleek blue gown. The women held hands, making their mooney eyes at each other and giggling. Thankfully, they weren't too loud. 

"Hi, Husk, we're back!" Charlie waved in her usual friendly - and too loud - cheery voice.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Husk said in a low rasp with a glance towards the corner behind the bar. 

"Did Angel make it back yet?" Charlie inquired while maintaining a safe distance from the bar.

"He went on up. You should go up say hi," Husk made a point of stretching his wings as if easing an ache and blocked out the view of the corner behind the bar.

"He's probably asleep by now. We shouldn't wake him."

"Babe, let's go to bed. My feet are killing me." Vaggie was stepping out of her shoes. 

"Oh, Vaggie, I told you those shoes were too tight."

"But they went so well with my dress," Vaggie held the offending shoes together in one hand. "Ready to go up?"

"Sure."

Husk watched them resume their hand holding and headed upstairs. Sighing with relief, he returned to his game.

***THUMP***

"Sorry, I dropped them."

A whine rose from the corner behind the bar. Husk laid his ears back and stretched his wings wide to block out the view. 

"What's that noise?" Charlie looked around the lobby.

"Is that . . .a baby?"

Husk focused on the cards laid out before him, pretending he heard nothing. The keening continued and rose in octaves as tired irritation gave it volume. 

"Husk?"

"What?"

"It's coming from behind the bar."

"It's Fat Nuggets. Angel stepped on him or somethin'," Husk shrugged and wished he could shoo the owner of the hotel up the stairs... 

"If that was Fat Nuggets wouldn't he be upstairs with Angel?" Vaggie had her hands on her hips in that 'I know you're hiding something' pose.

"Fuck if I know! I don't manage that sonuvbitch and his pig." Husky kept his wings spread in a desperate hope the girls would go away. 

No such luck. 

In two seconds flat, Charlotte "Charlie" Magne, Princess of Pentagram City and Heir to the Throne, dashed down the stairs, threw herself across the bar, and ducked under Husk's wing to gush at what was hidden behind the counter. "Oh my god! There's a baby!!!"

"Keep it down or he won't go back t' sleep!" Husk hissed, but the damage had been done

Little Connor Walsh raised his head in a pushup, red-faced, confused, and tearful. His mouth was opened in a high whimper, which became a wail. 

Husk groaned, tossed the cards across the bar, and rounded on the princess. "Goddammit! I just got the little bastard t' sleep."

"Husk, don't call a baby that," Charlie chastised as she climbed over the bar, shirt bunched up around her knees as she landed on the other side. "Why is he in the pig pen?"

Since Angel Dust had wrangled Husk into watching Fat Nuggets while working, the bar cat built a little pen behind the bar, parts of crates nailed together and set against an empty corner to form a keen high wall. Inside was an assortment of baby toys, a bottle, a half dissolved baby biscuit, scattered Gerber puffs, and a blue blanket the baby had been sleeping on. Usually, it was Fat Nuggets sleeping there, but the roly-poly little body was a close second.

"If it's good enough for the pig, it's good enough for him," Husk muttered sourly. 

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," Charlie knelt on the floor by the pen, patting the baby on the back. 

"Husk, whose baby is that?" Vaggie stepped up to the bar to peer over the pen. 

"Angel's Irish friend dropped him off earlier and if she don't come get him, I'm putin' him out with the trash."

"No! Don't do that!"

Sitting up, the baby looked around in stark confusion as if looking for something or someone, and as an alternative, raised his arms towards Charlie. 

"Oooh, what do I do?" Charlie looked over her shoulder at Vaggie for a quick answer. "I think he wants something from me."

"Yeah, babe, he wants you to pick him up," Vaggie said with affectionate amusement. Hellborn rarely has children, so this Charlie's first encounter with such a small child since her own childhood. 

"Oh my god!" Charlie was actually squeaking in joy.

Vaggie turned her attention to Husk. "This is a hotel, not a day care." 

"Tell it t' that pink bastard!" HUsk retorted. "He's the one that begged me t' watch the kid."

"Did he say why?" Vaggie had a suspicious frown as she regarded the bar cat sternly with hands-on hips

"Sonuvbitch says she's gotta dance tonight on some stage and she said she'd pay me t' watch the kid."

“Vaggie . . .”

"Yeah?"

"I want one!" 

Connor had laid his head in Charlie's shoulder and was falling asleep with a thumb in his mouth. The princess was about to melt in bliss with a wide grin on her teeth, biting her lower lip. 

"Calm down, girl, you have NO idea what all taking care of a baby entails."

The lobby doors opened, and a slim woman with long curly red hair and silvery glitter around her eyes hurried inside. "I'm here! I'm sorry, so sorry. I got . . . held up at work."

Upon hearing his mother's voice, Connor raised his head, eyes round, looking for her. When he saw her, he leaned in her direction with an arm outstretched. Before Mother and Son could be reunited, Husk interjected himself. "Where is my money!?"

Bridget produced several bills with a cool look and shoved them (carefully) into the open clawed hand. "Thank you for your kindness."

Husk snorted as he counted the money. 

With some hesitation, Charlie handed Connor over to Bridget, who settled him against her hip. With an offered hand, she said, "Hi, I'm Charlie."

Bridget's eyebrows rose in surprise at the friendliness after spending a day where most people were rude or ignored her. She accepted the handshake, "I'm Bridget."

"Do you know Angel Dust?" Vaggie asked, with an air of a demand. 

At the mention of the pornstar's name, Bridget's brow crinkled. "Yes, I do. We…work together."

"This place isn't a daycare," Vaggie said politely but firmly. 

"I know that, but Angel said I had to go on stage and promised to get me a sitter, but brought us here instead."

"I don't understand. Angel said you had to go on stage?" 

Straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, Bridget said, "I'm a stripper and Angel Dust is my manager."

The reaction she received was not what she was expecting. Charlie's eyes went huge, and her jaw dropped. Vaggie burst into guffaws with her single eye watering. Husk pounded the top of the bar, wheezing. 

"That fuckin' louse couldn't… manage his way … out of a goddamn paper bag … unless someone puts uncut … cocaine outside the bag." Husk threw back his head and roared. 

"I'm surprised he booked you for … a stage and not a … kids show," Vaggie giggled. 

"Hey, what tha fuck is up with all this noise!" 

All eyes panned to Angel Dust storming down the stairs in a long pink silk robe, shirt pajamas which showed off long legs and slim middle, with Fat Nuggets tucked under a lower arm. He glared at them through bleary eyes until his eyes landed on Bridget. 

"Good. You can go ahead and pay up." 

Bridget looked around and, with a helpful nod from Charlie, handed Connor to her and dig into her purse. "I just paid off your friend for watching Connor, but I still need a daycare."

"Whateva," Angel rolled his eyes. "Prolly cheaper to ship the kid back to Ireland."

With no comment and lips pursed, Bridget slapped several bills into his waiting hand. The spider counted the bills with his upper hands as he shifted Fat Nuggets to his other lower arm. The little pig blinked at them with the confusion that could be akin to Connor's puzzlement. 

"Hey, this is a little light," Angel cocked an accusing eye at her. 

"I need to get a crib for Connor," Bridget crossed her arms and glared back. 

"The kid can sleep on a blanket. Saw 'im doin' it earlier. Hand over the dough."

For a moment, it seemed that Bridget's hair had flared outward in a radiant of fury. Reaching into her purse, she grabbed a wad of cash and shoved it into Angel's chest in a way that told the shocked audience she wished it was a knife instead. 

"Here! If it's alright with you, I'm keeping enough to get food because I can't work if I starve!" She collected Connor, who picked up on his mother's mood began fussing. To Husk, "Thank you for watching my son," and to Charlie, "It was a pleasure to meet  _ you." _

Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the hotel. Connor gave them a bleary eye state over his mother's shoulder before closing his eyes for sleep. 

"Fuckin' bitch," Angel muttered, bending down to collect the fallen money. "Let's see …at least she met most of her quota for the week."

When he straightened, he finally noticed the stares. "What?"

"What? What!?" Vaggie shouted, throwing her hands towards the double doors where Bridget has egressed. "What the fuck was that?"

"She owed money! You know how this shit works. Dues and quotas gotta be paid." He rubbed a thumb over the fingertips of one hand. 

"Are you her PIMP!?" Vaggie's teeth gnashed, and her hands curled into claws. 

"No! Well, kinda?" Angel Dust shrugged and headed upstairs. "I'm goin' back t' bed. I gotta pick up two more recruits and put 'em t' work t' morrow."

This earned another shocked silence, and no one spoke as the pink spider climbed the stairs. With his long robe with the fluffy cuffs, one could almost. 

Seething, Vaggie whipped around to Charlie, throwing an accusatory finger at the stairs. "Can you believe … Charlie?"

Sagging against the bar with her head down into folded arms, Charlie sobbed. "We failed him! He's regressed!"

"More like movin' on up in the world," Husk muttered. 

  
  



	8. The Masochist and The Sadist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Dust picks up his new charges, but things don't go as expected.

**Four days ago . . .**

"Horace, you saw my email request?"

"Ah do, Ah do. Ah got two for ya if ya got room for 'em."

"I might. What do you have for me?"

"There's this club Ah own, tha  _ Hit 'em, Whip 'em _ club. It specializes in BDSM. The two Ah'm talkin' about come inna set. They work well together, but not with others."

"What's their problem?"

"Well, the first one . . . look, Ah've dealt with doms who git a bit too rough with the clientele or too possessive, but this one is just plain mean as a stepped on rattler! And the other one . . .lawd, you gotta watch like a hawk!"

"I think I might be interested in takin' 'em of your hands, Horace."

***

**Now . . .**

In the safe human zone of Pentagram City, there was an apartment building where Bridget Walsh was trying to get a few hours of sleep with her baby tucked against her side. After being woken up in the middle of deep sleep and being energized by being picked up by Mummy and going shopping at the 24-hour store, it was another hour of cuddles and songs before he went down again for the night. 

By 8:00 in the morning, Bridget groggily noticed her phone buzz, which lay next to her pillow. The screen lit up to reveal a text message.

**Val:** I've been thinking about you, Princess.

Heat rose to her cheeks as she stared at the message. After reading it several times, she sank her face into the coverlets as she recalled her chat with Valentino. The memory came in fragments, mostly clouded by red smoke and darkness, but she could still feel his arms around her when she cried. Physical sensations crawled along her flesh, giving her a brief glow of pleasure before Connor made a sniffling sound in his sleep, which cut off that warmth. 

Her thoughts went forward to the nude shots in two hours. A cold finger trailed down her spine at the thought of it.

It wasn't that she was shy about being nude. When you share a gym locker room with ballet dancers for years and have your body scrutinized by trainers and company recruiters, there is no room for modesty, especially in a profession with strict body shape and weight standards. And God knows she's stripped in front of a crowd countless times since working for Queenie.

The nude shoot seemed like an audition for something she wasn't sure she wanted. 

***

Angel woke up with a headache and a dry mouth. He rectified both problems with a handful of painkillers and water. Then he checked the messages.

**Val** : Get Bridget and newbies to the studio by 10:00.

**Bridget** : I'm dropping Connor off at a daycare center on Bour St. Pick me up there.

**K-Chan** : Hey, Pinkie! I got your number, so fuck you and eat my ass. *Giving the finger Emoji*

Moaning, Angel rubbed a spot between his eyes to soothe the headache away. Was it going to be like this every morning? Instead of sleeping in, he'd have to go through more bullshit? 

The option of telling Val to fuck off and deal with them himself was tempting but knew Val would expect him to move back into the Porn Studio to work full time. That wide grin with the gold tooth would beam at him with a satisfied smugness that set his teeth on edge. 

Fuck that! He called Dan to come to pick him up, threw on his clothes, took a snort of cocaine to ease his nerves, carried Fat Nuggets downstairs for Husk to watch, and left the Happy Hotel. 

***

Bridget was sitting on a bench when the dark car stopped at the corner. Gathering the gym bag sitting next to her, she entered the backseat and coolly said, "The daycare is only open from 8:00 to 5:00 . . .so I need your friend to watch him tonight."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Angel muttered, bringing up Husk's contacts in his phone.

**Angel** : Kid needs watching again tonight.

There was a short pause.

**Husk** : Hell no! Not a babysitter.

**Angel** : What? The money wasn't good?

There was another pause. 

**Husk** : This isn't going to be a regular thing.

**Angel** : Sure thing, babe.

"He'll do it," Angel muttered. 

"Thank you," Bridget replied in a lukewarm tone. She checked the time on her watch. "Val’s text said I have to be at the studio at 10:00."

"Why? You fall off the pole so many times you’re getting fired?"

"No, I'm. . . I'm doing a photoshoot."

"Oh," Angel rolled his eyes. 

Yep, she was pretty enough to warrant nudie pics and move up in the world of sex work. Maybe one of Val's managers thinks they can earn a few brownie points by discovering potential talent. However, he didn't see the appeal beyond that she had a nice figure, but it was tucked beneath a coat and jeans with her hair tied up in a loose bun. The best she could hope for is if a few of her pictures were sold to low brow nudies mags. 

"And you have to somewhere be tonight?"

"I'm dancing."

"Again? Giving the newbies the shit shift, huh?"

"I'm not a newbie. I've been dancing for almost a year."

"A year!? Nah, babe, that's nothing in Pentagram City. I've been dancin' for 70 years and Val has a few that's been doin' it longer than me. The best you can hope for is t' be a stand in if one comes in too drunk t' perform."

Bridget didn't reply, but the discomfort in her eyes spoke volumes. Oh, well, it wasn't his job to hold her hand. If she made some money doing nudie shots, then all the better for him. 

***

The new recruits weren't at the train station. Angel Dust looked for them in the crowd but did not see the human woman nor her demon partner. Getting frustrated, he checked to see if there were any messages from Val about the change of plans, but there were none save for the warning not to fuck up. Well, this wasn't his fuck up! They were supposed to be waiting for him at the train station, so where the hell was they?

He finally gave in and asked a security guard, flashing the pics of the duo at him.

"Oh, them . . ." the guard said distastefully. "As soon as they got the woman's motorcycle from cargo, they took off west down Gruntson Avenue."

"What?" 

"Yeah, the two of them roared through here on a black motorcycle loud enough to rattle the windos."

“Fuck . . .”

Back in the car, Angel Dust had Dan go up Gruntson Avenue with his eyes peeled for black motorcycles or his charges. Bridget compliantly stayed silent and looked from her side. Angel Dust checked the time. They still had 45 minutes to get all three of them to the studio and each minute that slipped by was a countdown to Val coming down on him hard. 

"I see motorcycles over there," Bridget announced, pointing at a building down the road.

Several of them were black, but it was as good a place as any to look. Angel had Dan park the car along the curb and went inside the bar. A myriad of demon bikers filled the interior wearing leather, spikes, and colors. Since they weren't at each other's throats, the gangs must be allied or friendly. 

The club's main activity was happening against the far wall at a small round table where he finally spotted his charges. 

Maggie Kent, also goes by MK for short, was a woman in her late 30s with shoulder length black hair tied back in a low ponytail and tanned skin. Her face was long, with high cheekbones and full lips. She was sitting opposite a demon in dusty leathers with an arm propped on the table, which the demon clasp in an arm wrestling position.

Standing behind her was a demon, Diamante, with golden skin with black diamond patterns along his bare arms and lizard-like tail. His face was flat like a human's with a slasher grin full of sharp teeth and crimson eyes with amber pupils watched the arm wrestling match with intense interest. 

The two of them wore matching outfits of black and white. MK wore tight black jeans, which fitted her like a second skin with a white crop top with suspenders stretched over her shoulders. Diamante's apparel was similar, but he wore a leather vest over a white shirt. 

Money was being exchanged while quick bets were being made before the opponents engaged. MK had a wicked grin on her face matched by Diamante, who had his hands on her shoulders in encouragement as the muscles in her arm tightened. Angel pushed through the bar, weaving between tables, ignoring whistles and propositions, and almost narrowly being pulled onto a lap a few times.

"What the fuck are ya doing?" Angel Dust hissed at them.

"Ah, you must be Angel - Angel . . .Angel something?" Diamante spoke with a Spanish accent as he glanced down at his partner.

"Dust . . ." MK said through gritted teeth, her eyes only for her opponent.

"Ya supposed t' be waitin' at the station!"

"Oh, we got bored waiting at the station and decided to explore. We found this wonderful little oasis."

"Whateva. The car is waitin'. . ."

"No, we can't leave yet,  _ mi amigo _ ," Diamante shook his head. " _ Mi amor _ hasn't won this contest yet."

"Look, we ain't much time. Valentino says ya gotta be at the studio at 10:00 and I got thirty minutes to get ya there."

“Val . . .len . . .tino?” The demon armwrestling MK muttered. “You . . .a buncha . . .sluts?”

“Nah . . .” The woman replied, a bead of sweat forming on her brow. "We're sex workers . . ."

With a grunt, she sent his hand home onto the tabletop. There was a cacophony of cheers and moans as money was exchanged again. MK surged upward with a cry of pleasure and threw her arms around Diamante's neck. 

Her opponent didn't take the loss well. "You goddamn bitch! You fuckin' cheated."

Diamante held up a handful of bills. "Someone get this little  _ puta madre _ a drink before he says something he'll regret."

MK decided that it was too late. She grabbed a bottle out of the hand of a nearby demon and smashed it across the demon's head.

***

Bridget stared at the new message on her phone.

**Val** : Excited about the photoshoot, Princess?

Electrical sensations crawled along her arms as she stared at the message. Numbly, thumbed a message back.

**Bridget** : I'm nervous about it.

Her breath caught in her throat when the response was almost instant.

**Val** : Don't be. You're a natural. 

**Bridget** : I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed when you see the pics later.

**Val** : I won't be disappointed.

Before she had a chance to react or think of a response, a roar erupted from the bar. Glass shattered as a body was flung through it, and then gunshots blasted. Bridget threw herself down across the seat, covering her head with both hands. Dan was in the front seat, cursing, starting the car.

Sprinting from the doors was Angel Dust, followed by a demon and a woman. With all four hands filled with guns, Angel ran for the car, threw open the door, and leaped inside, bowling over Bridget. "Get the fuck in the goddamn car."

The other two went for the line of parked motorcycles. The woman threw a leg over a black cycle and started it up. The demon with black diamonds on his skin went to the end of the row and kicked the first bike with enough force to start a domino effect.

Angel could only watch in horror as each bike was toppled over one by one. With a proud look, Diamante dashed for the car as his partner peeled off the curb taking position ahead of Dan. 

"Drive, Dan! Get us the fuck outta here!" Angel screamed.

The car and motorcycle fled as dozens of biker demons ran from the bar front doors and jumped out of the broken window. Shots were fired at the vehicle, and Bridget shrieked each time a bullet hit the car. Angel hung halfway out of the window returning fire with all four guns.

Meanwhile, Diamonte laughed, slapping his knee in mirth as if he had just heard a good joke despite the roar of engines behind them and the pings of bullets hitting the car. "I missed Pentagram City!"

  
  
  



	9. The Porn Studios

If there was one thing that all and any Valentino's employees knew was if he called, you better pick up the fucking phone.

Ten rings and Valentino's thin fingers squeezed the phone hard enough to potentially crack the case. Angel Dust knew better than anyone not to ghost him. Fifteen rings and the Moth Pimp was pacing his office, his heels clicking on the hard floor and leaving pin prints on the carpet. 

It was ten minutes till 10:00, and Dan hadn't pulled into the Porn Studio's underground garage. At first, the errand was to goad Angel Dust, rub some salt in wounds, but now he was starting to get pissed off. And concern that something had happened to his workers. 

Despite his excessive bullshit, Angel Dust was still a good money maker with a huge following. Maggie and Diamanté were new but talented and would draw in a good profit when properly managed. And it would be devastating to lose the potential fortune he could make from Bridget.

Shit. It was one thing to have Angel Dust mismanage workers as he was expecting and planning for, but it was a different beast altogether for him to LOSE workers! 

Finally, to Val's relief and for Angel Dust's sake, the phone call went through. Before he had a chance to make any demands, earsplitting gunfire ripped from the speaker and into his ear. Grimacing, his intact antenna bushing out like a cat's tail, he snarled at the phone, thinking it some poor fucking joke and choice on Angel's end when it was followed up by the screeching of tires on asphalt and roar of engines. Many engines.

"Val, I can't fuckin' talk right now! Got this gang on our asses!" The 'ratata' of gunshots from Angel's favored Tommy erupted across the phone. 

"What the fuck is goin' on!?" Val howled over the raucous. 

"I told ya, Boss, we're bein' chased by bikers. Hey, Diamanté! One's comin' up the side! Swerve, Dan! Smash him offa tha road!"

There was a screech for metal connecting with metal, tires ripping along pavement, and followed by a deafening crash. Within the chaos, Val heard a definite high pitched shriek of a woman's scream. 

"Is Bridget in that fuckin' car!?"

"Yeah. She's on the floor, and not helpin'!" 

"Hail Mary full of Grace…"

"That doesn't help either!"

"Angel, get her to the studio! NOW!!!"

"Workin' on it, Boss. Tryin' t' get all three of 'em there."

"Puta madre!"

"And blessed is the fruit!"

"Shit!!!!"

The call ended, cutting off the squeal of rubber and roaring of engines. Val fumed and cursed in a helpless fury that begged to be vented around a certain pink spider's throat. 

***

At 9:54 AM, under the gaze of a voluptuous demoness statue of Porn Studios, a black car was parked with tires flat, back windshield peppered with bullet holes, and the side doors slashed and scratched. Dan, the driver, was patting the dented hood as if it was a cherished horse about to be put out to pasture with a loaded rifle. 

Angel Dust, whose hair was tangled and sporting several tears in his pink jacket, was impatiently eyeing the street corner. Diamante sat on the curb, enjoying a smoke and looking nonetheless for wear despite the rip in his vest and the healing gash along his cheek. 

Bridget vomited into a trash bin at the street corner while MK held her hair out of the way. Her motorcycle was parked a few feet away and stood in better condition than Dan's car. She had some lacerations in her arms and a rip along a sleeve that exposed a black bra. Though Bridget has sustained the least physical damage, her vomiting and frightened eyes told a different tale. 

Her hair was unbound from when a biker had reached through a smashed window and grabbed her. Diamanté had acted quickly, twisted the offending wrist, and broke the arm with a sharp blow to the elbow. After that, Bridget was pushed to the floorboard, where she huddled and prayed until it was over. When the car came to a rickety halt in front of the Porn Studios, her stomach rebelled. 

When she recovered, Bridget took a bottle of water she always stored inside her gym bag, washed out her mouth, and popped a couple of breath mints into her mouth. Then she gathered her hair back into a ponytail as she chewed as self-grooming made her feel better, more in control.

"Ya done?" Angel demanded when she and MK walked up. 

"Since I'm no longer throwing up, then yes. I am done," Bridget said coldly. 

"Aw, leave the _chica bonita_ alone, _mi_ _amiga rosa_ ," Diamante said, standing up and exhaling a long stream of smoke. "We're all here together safe and sound."

"No thanks t' you!" Angel rounded on him, jabbing a finger into his chest. "What the fuck was the idea in provokin' 'em like that? Kickin' over their bikes is like writin' up a suicide note!"

The lizard demon shrugged with an easy smile. "Ah, but they insulted  _ mi amor _ and I cannot turn a blind eye."

"Awww, baby," MK smiled with twinkling eyes. "Defendin' mah honor like a gentleman."

"Alright, quit it with the mooney eyes and let's go! It's almost 10:00!"

***

The first-floor receptionists of Porn Studios were triplets of buxom blondes, each with a beauty mark on their faces. One had a mark beneath her right eye, the second by the corner of sultry lips, and the other near her temple. They each wore their hair in matching coiffes and tight red dresses that their bountiful breasts could spill out of if they leaned too far forward. A demon was trying to flirt with the demoness who had a beauty mark near her eye while pushing forward a proposal for Valentino. She was politely refusing him with a charming smile and a deep voice rich with seduction. 

"I'm sorry for any inconvenience, but your proposal has already been sent to admissions. As long as we have your contact information, then we are sure to contact you if the president is interested."

"Yeah, but ya said that last time and the time before that."

"And I will continue to say so until your proposal has been accepted. Please, have a good day sir . . .before I call security."

Angel Dust went to the open desk space where the demoness with the beauty mark near her eye greeted him with a warm, seductive smile. "Good morning, Angel Dust. I take it you're checking in for your 10:15 shoot?"

"Yeah, and I brought lovebirds and red along for whatever they're here for."

"Yes, let me see . . ." the receptionist tapped away at her computer. "Diamante and Maggie Kent are to report to floor 5. Bridget Walsh is to go to floor 4. And Angel Dust, your shoot is floor 6." She motioned towards an elevator guarded by two men in security shirts. 

Angel Dust led the way. The Porn Studios had once been a home to him . . .until it became a prison. 

When the four of them were inside the theater, Angel Dust was able to relax. He actually pulled it off; he got all of them to the studio on time. Now that he could breathe, he could sate a curiosity he's been carrying since he met MK and Diamante. 

"So . . .who's the dom and who's the sub?"

MK didn't miss a beat. "Why don't ya fuck us and find out?"

"Aww,  _ mi amor _ is as quick with her tongue as she is with her whip," Diamante croon drawing his arms around her waist and pressing his cheek to the top of her head. "Oh how I long for both." 

Before Angel could come up with a response, his phone buzzed with a message from Val. What did the bastard want now? 

**Val** : What's missing?

The message contained a link. Angel tapped it, and it took him to a live stream of a room with a single empty bed. "What the hell is this?"

Several messages popped up in the corner. 

**K-Chan Fan#1** : Oh, no! She's gone!

**Eat_My_Azz** : Come back, K-Chan, we miss you!

"Aw, fuck me . . ." Angel moaned. He hit the number 3 on the elevator panel. "I take it you shits know how to handle an elevator without me, right?" It was heartbreaking how seriously he was asking the question.

"Go, go, we're all adults," MK replied, leaning into Diamante's chest. "We promise, we'll be good."

Angel eyed each of them until they arrived at his floor. The BDSM couple seemed more interested in making out in the elevator than causing mayhem, and Bridget was standing quietly in the corner, staring down at her phone. "Alright, whateva, just don't start any shit."

The doors shut after Angel Dust, and the elevator resumed its journey upward until the reached Floor 4. There was a short pause, and MK glanced over at Bridget, who was still staring at her phone. "Hey, hon, we're at your floor."

Blinking, Bridget looked up at the floor number glowing above the doors. "No . . .I . . .I don't get off here. I . . .have to go to the top floor. Floor 7."

She stepped forward and pressed the number 7 button. The doors shut and against the journey resumed upward until floor 5. 

Holding hands, Diamante and MK headed out of the elevator until the dark haired woman paused in the doorway. "Honey, lemme tell ya something and ya can do with it whateva ya want."

Bridget looked up from her phone. "Yes?"

"You seem like a sweet girl, but the thing is a lot of demons like t' eat sweet things. Be careful, okay?"

Bridget stared back at the woman, nonplussed. What did she mean by that? With a wink, MK followed her partner out of the elevator, leaving Bridget alone who looked down at her phone with a low sigh, where a new message had appeared shortly after they arrived in the elevator.

**Val** : Come up to my office, sugar. Top floor. 

"Be careful? I'm not stupid," Bridget muttered, her fingers tightening around the phone in quiet anger. "I'm just in a lot of debt and have a baby to raise . . .don't tell me what to do when you know nothing about my situation."

***

Keiko's cam room had a lock on the door to ensure she stayed inside and made her daily quota. She was let out to use the restroom and eat during downtimes when her stream looped ads. And when Angel arrived at her door, it was still locked with a latched. 

"Alright, K-Chan . . .where the fuck are you!?" Angel growled as he unlocked the door and threw it open. 

The cam room was still empty. Several cameras taking footage at all ankles focused on him, and a large monitor with a keyboard displayed messages in realtime from viewers. 

**BadBoyz** : Who's the spider girl? She's cute.

**I-Luv-Porn2850** : OMG!!! Angel Dust!!!! 

**Chrissi456** : Wow! K-Chan has celebrity friends!

Angel walked around the room. There were no windows nor any side rooms or closets. How did a girl escape a locked room with no other exits? 

From the corner of his eye, he spied the monitor with a fresh batch of messages from the streaming chat. 

**Greg!or25** : $25.00 for Spider to strip!

**Howl' sFlyingShack:** Yeah! Take off your clothes!

**Meri0001** : I don't think this is part of the stream, guys.

**Yugi-uhoh** : Hey! I see her! She's under the bed!

**K-Chan** : *Eat my ass, you goddamn snitch!*

Angel threw himself onto the floor and reached under the bed, but the tips of his fingers barely brushed the edge of her ankle as K-Chan took off through the open door. 

"Get the fuck back here!" Angel scrambled to his feet and took off after the fleeing girl who threw every insult in the English and Japanese language over her shoulder at him.

***

There was a stain on the strap of her gym bag. It was a brown color, possibly from spilled coffee or dirt. It bothered her, made her want to replace the strap or the whole bag now. And where was she going to get money for a new bag? Despite the stain, this was still a good one even though it was mocking her with its presence.

Taking several deep breaths to calm herself, she made a resolution to ignore the stain until she left the Porn Studios. When you are about to do something unpleasant or scary, think about what you're going to do once it's over. 

It was something a therapist once told her when she had anxiety over auditions. Her parents had arranged appointments for her when she stopped eating for a week after a failed audition. The woman had been kind and patient, and Bridget rather liked her and missed her when their sessions ended. 

The seventh floor of Porn Studios was more decorated compared to the lobby. When the elevator doors opened into a hallway, she saw photos of porn stars lining the walls. All of them beautiful and with alluring smiles and come hither eyes. Bridget paused when she noticed one particular porn star with familiar pink fur and four arms but wearing an evening gown and blonde wig. Was that Angel Dust?

There were a few of him among the photos. One of him basking in a giant martini glass with a blue wig and another of him half-naked on a bed and giving the camera a sexy smirk as if challenging the viewer to join him. Bridget had been aware that Angel Dust was a sex worker himself, but had no idea he was so popular. 

The hall led to a set of double doors where a security personnel was standing. As she approached, he took in her appearance. "Bridget Walsh?"

"Yes, that's me."

"The Boss is waiting for you inside."

She gripped the bag, mindful not to touch the stain, and watch the guard open the door for her. "Thank you."

It didn't look like an office. The decorations and furniture were a deep velvet color with the matching carpet with black hearts with moth wings motif. It reminded her of the living room area of a suite with cushioned couch and armchairs. 

"Have a seat, sugar, you hadda rough mornin'."

Across the room was an open doorway and the Moth Pimp's crimson long coat stood out in stark contrast with the darkness of the next room. His smile was glowing with the gold tooth shining bright like a beacon. He crossed the room in long graceful strides akin to a runway model on the catwalk. She never realized how tall he was when standing, almost double her height. 

As he asked, she took a seat on the couch, which was almost too high for her to sit comfortably with her feet touching the floor. It was definitely meant for taller people, but she managed it by perching on edge. The coffee table was a tray with two glasses, a crystal bottle of whiskey, and a tub of ice with silver tongs whose small teeth seemed to gleam at her in the light.

"Are you alright? Not hurt anywhere?" The moth's eyes appraised her appearance, seeking any knicks or scratches.

"I'm fine. I'm not hurt." There was a sore spot on her scalp when the biker had pulled out several hairs by the root. 

The memory sent a shiver down her spine. What if Diamante had not acted in time? Would she have been pulled through the car window by the hair to have her body torn apart between asphalt and tires? What if a bullet had gone through the car and hit her. The thought of dying brought forward a terrible thought : If she had died, who would have taken care of her son? 

Since she stopped going to Mass, there was a chance she would have regenerated as a Sinner, but what if she had gone to Heaven instead? Anyone who went to Heaven, save for fallen angels, never came back. Devin never came back. 

She didn't notice how close Valentino was until the chink of ice being dropped into glasses made her raise her eyes from the stain on the gym strap. Brown whiskey sloshed into the glasses, and the crystal bottle almost glittered into the low light.

"Have a drink, Princess, you're shakin'."

And he was right. The hand that had a stranglehold on the strap quivered as she reached for the glass. Ice rattled against the glass, but she managed to bring it to her lips without spilling a drop. The liquid was warm as it went down, spreading heat through her stomach, and a welcomed wave of calm came over her. 

A long arm lay across her shoulders, the hand squeezed her shoulder. "I want to apologize on Angel's behalf. What happened today shouldn't have happened and will never happen again." There was a heat in his voice, low like a flame inside a furnace. 

"I'm okay," she replied, taking another sip of whiskey. 

"Are you really okay, sweetheart?"

“N-no . . .”

***

If it was possible to run around the third floor of Porn Studios within five minutes or less, Keiko and Angel Dust proved it. The merry chase ended when Keiko ran through a break room and past a couple having lunch at a table and dashed down a long hall. Angel Dust spotted an old heavy lunch bucket with metal clasps, seized it by the top handle, and threw it with precision. It bounced off the back of her skull with a satisfying thunk, which had him throw up all four arms in a whoop before charging to collect her.

Her stunned condition afforded him a few minutes of peace, but once she came to, she fought with the ferocity of a cat about to get a bath. Hair pulling, scratching, biting, spitting, and hissing and above all, cursing at him, made progress slow and challenging, but fury and spite propelled him to continue. 

When they finally arrived at the cam room, he unceremoniously tossed her onto the bed, not caring that she almost rolled off it, and slammed the door shut and locked it. There were screams, curses, and the door being kicked and beaten on as he took a deep sigh of relief to recover before heading up to his porn shoot.

When the makeup artist saw him, her eyes went wide. "What the hell happened to you? You get in a cat fight?"

"Nah, just . . .dealt with an issue," Angel muttered, shucking off his suit. "Val here yet?"

"No, he ain't coming today," she said as she opened her kit and unfolded trays of powders and brushes. "He appointed Matthew as director for this shoot." 

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow as he sat down. Valentino was usually present during his porn shoots, directing the action and giving orders on how scenes should play out. "He ain't coming? What's he doing? Sucking off Vox?"

Rolling her eyes, she swept a brush through his hair that was still tangled from the car chase and Keiko's hair pulling tactics. "I don't know his schedule."

Taking out his phone, he checked to see if he received any messages during his merry chase after Keiko. There were none so he tapped out a new message.

**Angel** : I'm at the shoot, Boss.

Val's usual prompt response didn't come. 


	10. The Shoots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Explicit sexual and nude scenes. Masturbation. Along with elements of non-consensual sexual interaction.

One thing that Valentino could never make Vox understand was that not everything could be won by money. He wasn’t knocking riches and fortune by any stretch of the imagination; why else would they be in the Life?

But Vox used money and fame like a hammer and saw every goal as a nail. Val was more attuned to desires and instead saw people as puzzles. Most people were basic and wanted the money and promise of fame. However, others wanted - needed - something else, and if you offered it to them, they would do anything and everything for you. 

Angel Dust had been such a special case. He had been rejected by his family for being gay, even after death, and lived a life of crime and gangs that stretched from Brooklyn, New York to Pentagram City, trying to make that one big score so he could fall into the lap of luxury and be as openly gay as he wished without fearing the judgment of others. Valentino offered him not only a chance to embrace his sexuality but become rich and famous doing so. And Valentino delivered in every promise: drugs, parties, celebrity status, and sex without fear of becoming a pariah. 

It just came with some strings attached the ungrateful bitch didn’t like. 

Bridget was different. She had money and a family in the form of wealthy parents who afford to send their daughter to the prestigious Catholic private school and pay for her lifelong dedication to ballet. And she turned down potential fame for love, which ended with her waiting tables in a Dublin cafe as a single mother and immense hospital and medical care debt on her back. 

She was like some people Val had dealt with that kept their inner turmoil bottled up, letting it fill them up like a pitcher. Eventually, something happens that tips the pitcher, and all that pain, fears, and worries come pouring out in tears and emotion until empty. And if you were fortunate to be there when that happens, you can fill them with whatever you wanted. 

He supposed he had Angel Dust to thank for presenting him this opportunity, though it would do little to ease his wrath when it came time to dispense punishment. The little shit almost cost him a fortune, and he wasn’t about to let that slide.

Bridget only shed a few tears and drank a second glass of whiskey. At least she was not an overly emotional wreck as she appeared to be. Val supposed they grow them strong in Ireland, or what happened to her over the previous year had tempered her nerves to withstand trauma to an extent. 

His fingers tousled her hair, and the curls almost entwine around his thin knuckles. “What do you want, baby?”

Her answer came after a short pause. “Money.”

“Then you’re in the right business.” He drew in his cigarette and released a long stream, taking a moment to think. “Everyone wants money, Princess, for sex, jewelry, clothes, cars …”

“A crib.” Her voice was low as if whispering a prayer. “I just . . .I just want a crib for my son. I’ll want other things later,” she gripped the strap of her gym bag, which was sitting beside her on the seat. “But right now all I want is a crib.”

He knew he was going to like this one. She had simple wants and none of the desire for flashy toys or glitter. Easy to please while being eager to please others. Had the looks of a princess without the bitchy attitude. Well, he can certainly work with this, but something needs to be understood first. 

He took her chin between his fingers and lifted her face for their eyes to meet. A grin, sharp and bright like a knife in the dark reflected in the dark pits of her pupils. “Sugar, you work for me and you’ll have everything you’ll ever need. You do as I say, and I’ll be the Daddy you never had. You don’t . . .well, you may find yourself somewhere worse off than waitin’ tables and havin’ your tight little ass grabbed for free.”

His words carried a sharp edge of definitiveness and the weight of finality. His hand slid down the side of her neck in a slow caress and squeezed her shoulder, waiting for an answer. There was no point in hurting her right now, not when she needed a moment to absorb what he was laying down. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Are we gonna get along, Princess?”

“Yes, sir . . .” 

No, he needed a bit more than that. His thumb grazed the front of her throat, not applying too much pressure, but enough to let her know it was there. “Yes?” 

She swallowed a slight motion of the throat, a flutter of the eyelashes. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now we have a photoshoot to go to.” 

*** 

“Angel, you’re gonna have to relax if I’m gonna do this.”

His legs were spread open, hooked over a robust demon’s hips. He had been preoccupied with sucking off a second demon’s dick that he hadn’t noticed the insistent prodding at his ass. 

“Cut. Cut. Take a break. Adjust the lighting and someone get Angel more lube.”

His partners withdrew from him, their erections losing firmness, but still maintain an at attention pose. He laid on the bed for a few minutes, resting during a break, which was a new sensation. Val rarely allowed for breaks during shoots and would have ordered the partner to just jam it in without consideration for comfort. Angel had worked with other directors before, but usually, Val was in the wings, making sure his presence was felt in one way or another. 

Scooting off the bed, he collected his phone from where it was hidden beneath his clothes. No messages from Val and he had to sift through the numerous insults and threats from Keiko.

**K-Chan:** Burn in hell, Pinkie!

**K-Chan** : Small dick, wonder!

**K-Chan** : I bet Val has to put a bag over your face, so fellow porn stars can get through the shoot without throwing up. It just gets edited out later.

Where was Val? 

***

“Look at the camera . . .good. Smile. I want bedroom eyes . . .good girl. Very good.” 

She was sitting on a bed wearing nothing save for a men’s shirt. It was open, the white buttons gleaming like pearls, her breasts and stomach exposed. 

“Lean back. Knees apart. More. Just like that. Kenneth, adjust the lighting.”

No one spoke save for Valentino, who presided over the shoot. He sat in darkness, outside of the spotlights. Yet, she could see him clearly from the strands of crimson smoke and the pink frame of heart-shaped shades. 

Her chest rose and fell as she slowly drew in a deep breath. There were shutter clicks of a camera.

“Lose the shirt. Lay back, arms behind your head. Lionel, do an overhead shot of the waist up. Look at the camera, Princess.”

It was hard to see it. The light glared into her eyes until they adjusted to the point where she could see a black round eye peering down at her—more shutter clicks.

“Honey, give the camera those beautiful ‘fuck me’ eyes you had on stage. Fondle yourself if you have to, but give me those eyes again.”

***

Hands rocked him back and forth like a pendulum of a clock. He kept himself open and receptive; he had done rougher scenes before, so this was a pretty basic threesome. 

He looked where Val usually watched from the scenes from the corner of his eye, but it was an empty chair. It was like seeing a throne without its king. 

Hot cum spilled across his tongue, and he couldn’t remember if he was supposed to swallow or let it spill out of his mouth. It dribbled from his mouth, and since the director wasn’t bitching, then he lucked out. 

“Alright, push him down onto the bed and go a bit rough.”

A hand onto the middle of his back pushed him onto the mattress. Angel relaxed his body as much as possible as hips began thrusting against his. 

***

She didn’t realize how dry her throat was until the water touched her lips. Draining half the bottle, she felt better but still hot like she stood too close to a heater or running a fever. 

Everything was happening around her; cameras and lights were being moved and adjusted. The Moth Pimp was looking over the photos and giving orders to staff. No one spoke save for ‘Yes, sir’ or ‘Yes, Boss,’ his voice was the only one that could be heard above all.

She underwent a ‘wardrobe change.’ Now she was wearing white stockings with lace garters and nothing else. The assistant offered her a robe until the shooting resumed, but she felt too hot to wear one. She’d only have to take it off again. After a quick makeup check and hair adjustment, she was left alone to wait.

Everything felt distant like all her senses were experiencing everything through a murky fog. As if she wasn’t really here. Was this disassociation her therapist was talking about? A way to divorce herself from what was happening?

Hands, long and dark, laid on her shoulders. “How do ya feel, sugar?”

“I . . .feel warm.”

“Want to stop?”

“No, sir . . .no, Daddy.”

“That good, because we’re not stoppin’. You’re doin’ real good, Princess, but Imma need somethin’ more for this next shoot.”

More? What more could he want? 

A third hand curled around her throat, not squeezing, but gentle, and lifted her chin. Hearts peered down at her, a grin, almost close enough for her to smell the sweet musk of the cigarette on his breath. A fourth hand slid down her belly, pelvic, and her flesh parted like a ripe piece of fruit. Gasping, she jerked against the sudden intrusion but was held in place against him by the neck. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw the assistant, a pretty batlike woman with wings, was gathering fallen towels and pointedly kept her head down, ignoring what was happening.

“Shhhh, baby, when was the last time someone did this for you?”

Almost two years ago . . .when she had been happy. But she couldn’t find the words to tell him. Standing up on the balls of her feet, her hips pulsed against his hand as hot pleasure roiled through her like oil. 

“That’s right, Princess. I think you’re ready for this shoot.”

The fingers withdrew, covered in her arousal. She dropped onto her heels, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

“You’re gonna look at the camera,” Valentino crooned. “And beg every motherfucka who sees your pictures t’ fuck you with your beautiful ‘fuck me’ eyes.”

“Y-yes . . .yes, Daddy.”

***

“Time for the money shot. Get in position.”

Angel Dust knelt on the floor, hands lifting up his chest puff. Again, his eyes went to Valentino’s empty chair before his vision was filled with a cock being pumped.

“Look up at the camera, Angel. You know how this goes,” the director said lazily, ready to call it a day. 

Valentino would have said something a bit more . . .inspiring? Like, look at the camera like you’re begging the viewers to join in on jerking off on him. 

A thick ropey strand of cum burst across his cheek, almost hitting his open mouth. The second landed across his chest puff. Angel maintained a wicked leer into the camera, a tongue lapping the cum off his cheek. After a few minutes of flirting with the camera with his eyes and mouth, the director called it a wrap. 

An assistant brought him a towel, and he wiped his face and chest. After pulling on a robe, he went for the showers. 

***

She felt numb when Valentino declared the shooting a wrap. The thick robe felt almost claustrophobic as it was meant for a taller person. The bat woman helped her remove the garter belt and stockings and led her to a changing room.

“There’s a shower if you want to . . .”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

It felt slick between her legs to walk, a constant ache that couldn’t be sated until after the woman left her alone. Using the robe for some privacy, to hide what she was doing, she brought herself to a long delayed climax. Her fingers weren’t as long as Valentino’s, but she knew what she liked. When she was sated, feeling a wonderful glow after an orgasm, she drew deep breaths to cool her burning body, washed her hands in the sink, washed her face, and with a paper towel cleaned up between her thighs.

When she was almost dressed, putting on her shoes, the door of the changing room opened, and the familiar clicks of stilettos on the hard floor approached her. “You didn’t wait for me, baby?”

A humiliating hot flush spread across her face. How did he know that she . . .? Well, it must have been evident from the earlier shoot that she was aroused . . .he had seen to it himself. And what would he have done for her now? Several answers rotated through her mind, making her blush deepen. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling.” A hand patted her curls, drawing a thick wave of curls off her shoulder. “You did real good t’day. You made me very happy.”

“Thank you.”

“Now at Pandora’s Box t’night, I’m gonna expect that same energy.”

“Yes . . .yes, Daddy.” It felt strange, but right to call him that. 

“There’s a car waiting t’ take you home. It’ll also pick you up for the show. Angel will be busy with somethin’ else.”

“Thank you.” It was a relief to know she wouldn't deal with the spider tonight. 

There was a tight squeeze on her shoulder. “And, sugar, tonight . . .after your performance . . .you wait for me.”

Swallowing, she nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

“You’re learnin’ quick, baby.”

***

Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions during the ride to pick up Connor and return to her apartment. A part of her regretted doing the shoot, but then the receptionist cut her a check in the lobby. She blinked at the number.

“This much?”

“Valentino was very pleased,” the receptionist with the beauty mark at her temple beamed at her. 

Queenie had promised there was plenty of money to be made working in Pentagram City, but Bridget had no idea she meant this much! She never held this much money in her hands in her life. Not even in her best week at the Palace.

And she was in for another surprise when she arrived at her apartment. Sitting in the main room was an already built crib. It was one of those multifunctional cribs with a changing table attached and could be converted into a toddler bed when Connor was older. 

There was a string tied around the top knob with a heart-shaped tag.

**From: Val**

She burst into tears when overwhelming gratitude and relief overcame her. Coming to Pentagram City had been the right decision, after all. They were going to be alright


	11. The Diva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel meets the final ward, but it's just the beginning of his many problems.

**Four days ago . . .**

"Madame Dove?"

"Monsieur Valentino, I am 'appy you 'ave returned my call."

"Always have time for you, sugar. Is this about the email?"

"Oui. I 'ave a . . .' ow you say? A troublemaker?"

"Whatcha got for me?"

"She is . . .an  _ ange dechu _ . In your English, a fallen angel."

"Well, well, those are rare. Why are you givin' her up?"

"Ze clients . . .zey complain. She loses them as quickly as she gains them. A prostituée, who does not work, does not bring in money."

"Well, that is a problem . . . I'll take her."

***

An hour after the shoot was wrapped up, Angel finally received a text from Val.

**Val** : Get your ass to my office. Now.

"Fuck," Angel moaned. Might as well get whatever was going to happen over with.

Val's office also serves as his home, a suite at the top of the Porn Studios. There had been a time when Angel had considered it his home too. For a while.

Taking the elevator up and walking down the short hall was as familiar to him as someone returning to an old home, but filled with dread as he had a feeling of what was waiting for him. 

And Valentino did not disappoint.

The door barely opened before a black-gloved hand fringed with fur reached through, seized him by the front of the jacket, and hauled himself inside. He was shoved against a wall and his throat held in a strangling grip. A mouth affixed in a snarl loomed inches above his face, and Valentino's eyes slanted in rose color fury.

"When I put you in charge of the trade ups," Valentino hissed through fangs, "that didn't mean get 'em killed in a goddamn car chase!"

"B-boss . . ." Angel croaked but was cut off when Valentino slammed him against the wall again.

"You have any idea how much money you coulda cost me, you little bitch?" Valentino backhanded him across the face. Once, twice, and the third time sent Angel to the floor. 

He curled up in a ball in time to protect his side from the sharp toe of a stiletto. "Stop!" 

A hand grabbed his hand and hauled him to his knees. Before more punishment could be distributed, Angel wailed, "Ya didn't tell me those two fucks were crazy! Ya don't tell me shit!"

Then he was airborne and almost collided with the coffee table. His left shoulders took the brunt of the impact, bruising, but still able to crawl away from the fearsome sound of high heels clicking on the floor. 

"Val, stop! Please!" Tears were brimming his eyes, blurring his vision. "If ya told me they were . . .crazy as fuck . . .it's wouldn't have happened."

A grip on the back of his jacket yanked him upward. He cringed, expecting another series of blows, but instead, he was set on his feet. “You . . .might be right . . .perhaps I’m overreactin’ . . .a little.”

Angel stumbled when he was shoved forward and turned around expecting another assault, but Val was lighting a cigarette instead. The beating was over, for now, at least until Angel misspoke or stepped out of line. He wasn't out of danger yet. 

Valentino exhaled a stream of smoke and stalked towards the sofa, the same one he had entertained Bridget hours ago. Reclining upon it, he filled a glass from a crystal whiskey bottle. Angel checked himself over and found no broken bones, cuts, or scrapes save for bruises which would heal within hours, or his fur would hide. Val has gone easy on him. 

"Your last charge is flying inna hour," Val said through a ripple of smoke. 

"Yeah, the fallen angel and what's her deal?"

"Deal?"

Angel felt a tiny ember inside him burst into flames. "Yeah, her fuckin' deal! Bridget has a kid! Keiko is a runner! Diamante and MK are crazy as fuck! So what's. This one's. Goddamn. Deal!?"

Val's eyes narrowed, and Angel realized that he had put himself in the path of another beating. It was one thing to sass or mouth off, but it was another to outright yell at your pimp. Gritting his teeth, he waited with tension in his limbs to either defend himself or flee. Neither would do any good, but the instinct of self-preservation endured despite the countless beatings over the decades.

"She's a diva."

Angel has been so prepared for violence, it came as a shock that Val complied with his request. His bones became rubber from unspent adrenaline that he almost wobbled. "A diva?"

"She's such a bitch, she chases off clients so no one wants her," Val explained, waving the cigarette that caused little red twirling in the air. "The French dunno how to' deal with whores steppin' outta line. But I do."

His eyes narrowed dangerously as he took a drag on the cigarette. "You'll need t' keep this one in line if she's gonna meet her quota. You'll hafta keep all of 'em in line, Angel Cakes. From this point on, you're their manager so if they fuck up, it's your fuck up. They cost me money, it's coming' outta your ass."

"Yes, Boss." Angel nodded, feeling relieved they were moving into business. 

Val gave him a measuring look. "I'm in a generous mood so here's what I'll do for ya. I'll take one off your hands. Four easier t' manage than five, Imma right?"

Arching a brow, Angel asked, "Which one?" Inside, he was pleading,  _ Please say Keiko, please say Keiko! _

"Bridget," Val said, tucking the cigarette between his teeth. "Her schedule is gonna be a bit unpredictable for the next while."

Why unpredictable? She's a stripper who does nudie pics on the side. Wait a minute…Val was mocking him!? This was more of the pimp's bullshit!

"No, I can handle all five," Angel said adamantly. 

"Ya sure?" Val arches an eye ridge. 

"I'm sure," Angel replied. 

There was a cold moment, then Val shrugged, "Whatever. What happened t' day ain't gonna happen again. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Now get the fuck out. I got work t' do," Val hitched towards the door. 

Angel headed for the door but paused before leaving. "You weren't at the shoot."

"I had other things t' do, Angel Cakes. You know this place doesn't run itself."

"Yeah, sure." Angel didn't understand the relief unfolding in his chest. 

***

Mishil Delacroix would be flying in on a first-class on a flight landing at 6:00. Like Bridget, he'd just had to get her to the apartment she would be staying then reach Pandora's Box to strip. He managed to get Bridget to her apartment with no problems, so he shouldn't expect any more from this.

And like Bridget, he recognized the fallen angel among the crowd. Being taller than the average human, she was nearly his height at 6 ½ foot tall with snow white hair gathered into a twist at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a white dress suit with a pencil skirt and black high heels. Behind her hung two thin feathered wings, white but peppered with black feathers.

"Mishil Delacroix?" Angel said, approaching her.

The angel dipped her black shades downward and gave him a loo that was meant to make him feel small and lesser. " _ Oh, alors l'araignée démon connaît mon nom? _ "

"What?"

There was an impatient eye roll, and in accented fluid English, she said, "You are Angel Dust, yes? No?"

"Yes," Angel replied. "Grab your shit and let's go."

If an angel could bristle like an angry chicken, Mishil pulled it up exponentially. " _ Vous me parlez si grossièrement? _ " 

"Sweetheart, ya gonna hafta stick t' english. No speak Frenchie," Angel said, crossing his lower set of arms. "Now go get your luggage . . ."

Scoffing, the angel regarded him with another once over, and this time as if she could set him aflame with her eyes alone. "You tell me to do servant work? Am I your handmaid to order? Am I to break my nails doing the work of the field hand carrying feed sacks?"

"Look, princess, this ain't up for discussion. Ain't gonna tell ya again, go get your . . ."

There it was. The angel parted her legs, set a hand on her hip and the other one hand, and gave him a look that needed no translation. It was a 'make me and I'd love to see you try' look. Angel was in no mood for moody angels with diva complexes. 

"Look, bitch, ya better . . ."

He never got the warning out as she gave him an ass kicking worthy of Valentino. 

***

"What tha fuck happened t' you!?"

"Dont wanna talk about it, Husky," Angel muttered in a raspy voice, lowering himself gingerly onto a stool.

"Jesus . . .did that Valentino fuck do this?"

"Naw . . .Val could only wish he could do this." It felt like every rib on his right side was cracked, and his throat was on fire. "Gimme something strong."

"I wanna know what the fuck happened? Ya got jumped?" The cat bartender crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation. 

"I wish . . .I called a fallen angel a bitch."

It had happened so fast. It began with a sudden jab to the throat, a series of punches to his right side, his upper left arm behind twisted, and his legs kicked out from beneath him. He landed hard on his front and felt something hard press against the side of his temple. She had taken off one of her shoes, knelt over him, and pressed the heel against the side of his head. 

_ “Vous m'insultez à nouveau et ce sera la dernière fois que vous parlez,”  _ she hissed.

Everything was a blur as he was relearning how to speak. She cracked something in his voice pipe, and it had just not healed enough for him to talk through with a hoarse whisper and some pain. Now he knew why she was kicked out of Heaven . . .for being a violent bitch!

He managed to get her to her apartment without any further beat downs, but that likely because he could barely talk and was too afraid to make eye contact with her. And Dan carried her luggage upstairs for her.

Now Angel had to go ice his injuries and hope he healed up enough to dance tonight, or he was getting another ass kicking from Valentino. 

"Jesus Christ, where tha fuck you find a fallen angel?"

"Look, just lemme get a few drinks in me t' numb my throat and I'll tell ya all about it." 

***

It was an hour by the time Angel had shared the whole story from when he mouthed off at Val to his latest encounter with a new recruit. Husk stared at him, his expression wavering between near disinterest to outright horror when he recounted the car chase and Keiko pulling a runner.

“So . . .lemme get this straight.” Husk placed both talons on the bartop, scrutinizing Angel Dust with amber eyes. "You made a bet with Val that you can manage five workers and if you can pull it off, he'll let you off the hook? No more prostitution, pornos, and stripping?"

Angel shrugged. "Said I'd get my own track to manage. I'll still be workin' for 'im, but with different responsibilities."

"He's playing you for a sucker," Husk said, jabbing a claw tip at Angel. "He ain't gonna keep his end of the deal, even if you win."

"I know that," Angel said, annoyed. 

"Then why are you . . ."

"Because I wanna make that fucka eat his own damn words! I want him t' see I'm more than just a fucktoy!"

"Sounds like he's makin' you dance for his own entertainment." Husk glowered at him. "And you're dancin' along to his tune . . .again."

"Just like you dance for Alastor?"

"At least it comes with benefits that makes it worth dealing with his bullshit." Husk grabbed a bottle from the shelf and took a long swig from it as if to demonstrate his point. When he licked his lips, he continued, "And I ain't doin' it t' earn that sonuvbitch's respect. You're scraping the bottom of a barrel that's gone bone dry."

Before Angel could come up with a response, the lobby doors opened, and Bridget came inside with Connor on her hip. Angel stared at her wholly bewildered by her presence until he recalled that she was dancing tonight and needed a sitter. 

"Thank you again for watching him," Bridget said, setting a somber Connor on the counter. "I'll try not to be so late in picking him tonight."

Husk looked down at his new charge and then at Bridget. "Same deal as before? A pic every thirty minutes and I get my money?"

"Yes, same as before."

"Alright, hand 'im over." 

Bridget frowned when she saw what was already in the pigpen behind the counter. "What's that?"

"A pig," Husk muttered, rolling his eyes as if it was the most obvious response. 

Fat Nuggets was nosing through a blanket piled in the corner, the same one that Connor had been napping on, Bridget duly noted. He looked up when Connor was set down in pen and made contented oinking noises.

"It doesn't bite, does it?" Bridget asked.

Annoyed, Angel muttered, "No,  _ he  _ doesn't."

Husk shrugged. "They got along alright last night."

Bridget's eyebrows rose at the thought that her child could have been potentially bit to death by an animal without her knowing. "Okay, um, I'll be back later. Bye bye, bonnie lad."

Connor was too interested in watching Fat Nuggets than hearing his mother's goodbyes. He made a happy squeal and rocked back and forth on his rump. 

As Bridget turned to leave, Angel stopped her. "You're gonna have my money by the end of the night?"

"Yes, I will have your money by the end of the night," Bridget said coldly. 

"Leave it here with Husky," Angel muttered. "I gotta dance a gig at Pandora's Box t' night."

"I'll be there too," Bridget said. "Maybe I could give you the money then if we cross paths?"

Staring at her, Angel spun around on his stool. "What? Pandora's Box? What happened? Someone got sick and couldn't make it?"

"I was told I would be dancing there from now on."

Pandora's Club was one of Val's most popular strip clubs. . .at least since Cherri Bomb blew up Club 666. Angel's performances were moved there along with a few of Valentino's profitable strippers. The more wealthy clientele frequent the club, and Valentino made bank each night while the strippers filled their quotas. 

"Well, Val must be desperate if he got you fillin' in." Angel didn't care that his throat was killing him. Might as well let the girl down now before she got disappointed later. "Don't get too comfortable. Once he finds better talent, he'll have ya back at the other place."

"If that's what he wants, then . . .that's what I'll do," Bridget replied. She turned on her heel and left the lobby. 


	12. The Contract

"How long before you have her doing porn?" 

"Not right away," Valentino expelled a stream of smoke. "Don't want her career shootin' its load too soon."

The crowd below thrummed with conversation, drinking, and excitement. Every table and chair was filled with bartenders busy filling orders, and men and women wearing the club's uniform served drinks. The show wouldn't start for another hour with an opening act from a demon stripper named Desmona. An hour after her performance, Bridget, also known as Princess, would go on.

"Even looking at her nude shots, I still find it hard to believe she had a kid," Vox muttered, scrutinizing the photos laid out before him on the table. The one he was studying was of Bridget sprawling on the bed, with the men's shirt open, fully exposing her body to the camera. "Are you sure she didn't steal the kid?"

"Nah, I checked her medical records and she had the kid."

"She still tight down there?"

"As tight as a virgin."

"How soon do you want these seeded in the networks?"

"Imma let word of mouth do some free advertisin' before we start pushin’ her name. People will come back t' see her and bring friends along." The majority of Pentagram City demons were predators, and predators had a natural curiosity that begged to be sated with experience. 

"How can you be sure she's not a one hit wonder?" Vox lit a thin cigar and took a short drag, the end glowed neon blue for a moment.

"Her performance will hold up," Val said, confidently. 

Bridget Walsh had been a ballet dancer since she was a child. Dedication to performance and appeasing an audience had been ingrained into her along with compliance of following direction and intuition to know what a director wanted from her during a shoot. Basically, what came naturally to her was what he had tried to beat into Angel Dust, which was discipline.

***

_ Less than a year ago, I was lucky to take home 50 Euros in tips from waiting tables. And here I am, making thousands in US dollars. _

Queenie's sister, Rose, had come across her crying behind the restaurant after pulling a double shift. It had been a long day of being on her feet, taking orders, carrying heavy trays, and having her ass slapped and grabbed while she had to smile and endure it. And after all of that, she still didn't have enough money for the landlord, formula, and diapers.

"Bridget, what's wrong, honey?" Rose had been a good friend in Ballet Arts until Bridget was hired by the Swanson Ballet company. Rose left the school to take a job teaching ballet to first years. Upon hearing Bridget's troubles, she said, "Honey, what I'm about to suggest might be a bit unorthodox, but my sister owns a . . . strip club."

Initially, Bridget had been horrified at the thought of stripping. Being raised Catholic, she had been taught walking through the doors of such places was akin to damnation. 

Yet, Rose was insistent. "Honey, what you're making here is chump change to strippers. You're pretty enough and have more talent for dancing in your little toe than all of them put together. And the audience don't give a shite if your  _ pirouettes  _ aren't perfect or if you wobble a wee bit on an  _ arabesque  _ as long as you look good doing it."

Like Rose had promised, there was more freedom in pole dancing. The rules weren't so strict, and there was plenty of room for error, which the intoxicated, lustful crowd barely noticed. And Rose had been right. She made more money dancing for one night at Queenie's Palace than she ever made in a month at the restaurant. Rent was covered, her pantry was kept full, and Connor was well cared for, but eventually, the medical bill collectors came knocking, and the interest rates were unfairly high.

And Queenie offered a contract. "I pay off your debt, and you'll pay me back by dancing at the Palace. You'll have to pay interest and club dues, of course, but I won't come banging on your door and threaten to have you kick out of your house."

It had been good for a while. There were no nasty persistent phone calls, and she could afford Connor's care without choosing between diapers and meals. Until the Irish government began a campaign of heavily taxing adult entertainment venues, Queenie had to let the freelance girls go while withholding pay to keep up. Then she sold Bridget's contract to Valentino.

A wave of heat flushed her skin as her body reacted to the club's cold air, and the deafening roar of approval from the crowd. She had unraveled the top of her dress, breasts firm and the tips peaked and hard. Rising for the second part of her act, she caught a glimpse of Valentino watching from a private booth, and a pulse of pleasure and anticipation passed through her lower belly. 

_ He's watching me. _

And an unwanted feather of doubt and fear crept through her. What if she made a mistake? What if her poise was wrong? What if she landed too heavily on the wrong foot? 

No, no, this wasn't the Ballet Arts or Swanson Ballet. There wasn't a ballet master ready to cut her with words for any faulty technique nor fellow dancers to smirk at her being scolded. She could actually enjoy the dance without severe criticism or fear of failing. 

Bills fluttered like falling birds, heralding lust, and profit. She retreated to the back of the stage, letting the lights and distance hide the sweat on her skin. When the curtains fell, a backhand stage was waiting with a robe.

When she arrived backstage, she was shocked to see she had her own dressing room. And already it had the placard on the door with the word Princess on it. It was small but comfortable with a closet and makeup table where her phone held several messages.

There were a few from Husk with pics of Connor proving he was still alive and uninjured. Connor watching Fat Nuggets nosing through a blanket in deep fascination. Then the two of them eating baby cereal puffs off the ground, which suspiciously looked scattered like chicken feed. Then the latest one was the blonde woman, Charlie, holding Connor, who seemed content to lay his head on her shoulder while she beamed in absolute delight. 

Her phone buzzed as a new message appeared.

**Val** : Are you waiting for me, sugar?

She drew a deep breath as her face went hot. 

**Bridget** : Yes, Daddy.

Instantly, three dots flashed, and she waited with bated breath.

**Val** : Come to my private room. Stairs at the end of the hall.

***

Angel made it to Pandora's Box just in time. He had a habit of cutting it close, but as long as his ass was on stage and earning money, then Val usually didn't give him any shit about it. Usually. 

As he headed for his dressing room near the studio's back, he saw a familiar figure walking up the hall in a white robe. It took him a few moments of staring to recognize the long red curly hair. 

"Bridget? Holy shit. That you?"

"Uh, yes, it's me." There was silver glitter around her eyes while bold eyeliner brought out the shape of her eyes. Her face was flushed, but it could be powder rouge. 

Angel eyed the robe. "You already danced?"

"Uh, yes, I finished ten minutes ago."

How the fuck did she get such a good time slot? Not too early in the evening, when the customers have just arrived and haven't gotten drunk enough to forget their budgets, but not too late when they have already spent or given their money away.

"You, uh, do good. You make it sprinkle?"

She seemed distracted, her eyes looking over his shoulder, and slowly made her way around him. "Yes, I did . . .I did okay."

"Where ya goin'? Ya might wanna watch me and see how it's done," he snorted. 

"Maybe another time, I have to go," Bridget said and walked away.

"Wait, wait, you're gonna have my money later?"

"Yes, promise!" 

Angel watched her hurry away, shrugged, and kept going to the stage. "What's her damn hurry?"

If he had watched her, he would have seen her take the stairs that led up to Val's private office, where he liked to entertain special guests. On the way to his room, he noticed the room that belonged to Cinnamon replaced with the name Princess. What the hell kinda stage name was that? 

***

"I . . .I want to thank you for the crib . . .you didn't. . ."

"Shhhh, no need t' thank me."

He had rubbed her cheeks with the affection of a doting parent and scooped her up onto his lap. The red smoke was thick enough to make her eyes water but smelled so sweet like melted caramel sauce. A thumb rubbed her lips, almost hard enough to press them against her teeth.

"You deserve good things, Princess." A flash of teeth and a gleam of gold winked in and out as he spoke. "Just let Daddy take care of you and you'll have everything you ever wanted."

Black fingertips drew circles on her inner thigh, reminding of what he did to her during the photoshoot. Her breath caught in her throat, and she waited, her thighs parting in anticipation. 

Fingers curled beneath her chin and lifted her face. "Do you remember what I said earlier, baby?"

She nodded. "I remember."

"I've had a new contract written up. It just needs your signature."

"I . . .I don't understand. I thought you already had my contract."

"That was an agreement you had with Queenie and now you're going to make a new one with me."

***

Where was Val?

When the curtain opened, Angel's eyes went to Valentino's private booth. He could make out the square shape blue glow of Vox's screen face, but there was no telltale red smoke blooming from the booth. If Vox was here, then Val was somewhere, but where?

Angel Dust spun on the pole more from muscle memory than from technique. The crowd cheered in appreciation, and he smiled for them, like the trained monkey Val turned him into. Here he was making Val's money, and the Moth Pimp isn't there to leer at him and the money. 

***

“I . . .I don’t know . . .”

The robe was on the floor with her thong only a foot away from it. Even naked, she still felt exposed as if every shred of skin on her flesh was stripped away. Exposed, vulnerable, and afraid. 

"What's the matter, baby?"

His neck ruff was soft; the silken fur tickled her face. Thin fingers dipped between her thighs. Her head tilted back, sharp teeth grazed her throat, followed by a hot tongue. 

"I . . . I can do pictures, but . . .this other stuff . . .I don't know."

"Oh baby," his voice was a low rumble in her ear. "Don't ya trust me?"

“I do . . .but . . .”

"With this new contract, you'll be earning more money than you could never need, baby. Buy yourself a house with a backyard for that boy of yours. Send him off to a private school when he gets older if ya want. He'll never want for nothin'."

"I - I . . ."

"Shhh, just sign, baby, just sign your name."

“Val . . .Daddy . . .I don't want to do anything that'll hurt."

"Of course not, baby. You're my sweet Princess. I would never let anything hurt you . . .you just have to say, Yes, Val."

"O-okay."

"No, baby, you say . . .?"

"Yes, Val."

***

Angel Dust writhed on the floor, audience members leaning against the stage for a closer look. Bouncers stood nearby to keep them off the stage and in check. More than once, Angel had experienced being grabbed on stage, even being yanked off it by a horny fan. 

So far, he didn't see any worrisome patrons he should watch out for. They tended to advertise themselves by being the loudest with crude remarks and eyeing him like a slab of meat. To be fair, the entire crowd was watching him as if he was freshly cut sirloin. 

Val still had not returned to the booth. Vox had taken an interest for a while, then resumed toying with his phone. Where was Val? Why wasn't he here for . . .for Vox. 

Angel rolled onto his front, kicking up his legs, giving the crowd flirtatious grins while the money was tossed on stage. 

_ Here's your money, Val, better come get it. _

***

The ink was still wet on the paper when Val took his new plaything's face between his hands and kissed her mouth. "You've made me happy, baby girl."

Her hand, the one that held the pen and signed her name on the dotted line, trembled. She felt as if she had stepped off the edge of a cliff and wished she could take back the last few minutes. 

Hands lowered her onto the sofa, her own hands held against the cushion above her head. Legs coaxed opened, goose flesh spread across her skin, and she breathed in the red smoke blown into her face. The concept, the option of saying no, didn't come to her. Maybe because it was the smoke clouding her mind, or perhaps she wanted this. However, what she didn't know or understand, the situation had passed where saying no would have been respected or heeded. 

"Look at me and beg me t' fuck you with your eyes, Princess."

And she did.

***

Val still hadn't returned to the booth by the time the curtain closed. Angel barely acknowledged the backstage hand who tried to offer him a bottle of water or a robe and stalked to his dressing room. 

There were a couple of dime bags he kept stashed in a drawer at his dressing table. He went for the marijuana instead of the cocaine; he needed something to help him relax and dull the pain in his ribs—God, or Satan, what a shitty day he's been having. 

With Val busy, he could slip out and return to the hotel and retire early before more shit happens. Or find a sexy john and fuck until he forgot the bullshit while earning some money to keep Val off his ass. 

Where the fuck was Valentino anyway? Like earlier during the porn shoot, he was missing then too but showed up to kick his ass later. Pompous fuckin asshole.

***

Her body felt stretched, like a rubber band that lost its elasticity. There was soreness, but it was sweet pain that accompanied the warm glow radiating beneath her skin. 

There was a crinkle of paper. Valentino was rolling up the contract and put it away into his coat. "I'll text your new schedule tomorrow, sugar. Take the day off and rest. Ya did good work."

Was he referring to the photoshoot, dancing tonight, or . . .being fucked moments ago? Or perhaps all three. 

"Should I . . . go back to my shift, Val?" She pushed herself up to sit on the sofa. Brushing red curls from her face, she revealed that her makeup had smeared.

His eyes passed over her analytically. There were mild bruises on her body and a faint outline of a bite mark near her breast when he got a bit eager. "Naw, sugar, go home. You'll pull a double shift next time t' make up the difference."

The customers didn't like seeing marks they didn't put there themselves. 

"Thank you, Val."

She collected the robe and thong from the floor. After tying the robe around her, she paused as if she wanted to say something, but thought differently and went for the door.

"Princess," he called, reclining back on the sofa and lighting up a cigarette.

"Yes, Val?" She paused at the door, lowering a hand from the doorknob.

"What we did . . .it's just between us. I don't want anyone t' think your gettin' special treatment because you didn't earn it. Understand?"

"Oh, uh, yes, Val. I won't tell anyone."

"Good girl."

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	13. The Confrontation

Angel knocked back a few shots at the bar. Someone was fondling his ass, but he ignored it. Let someone cop a free feel, whatever, it wasn't like Valentino was around to see. And it was nice not to have the pimp breathing down his neck. He could actually fucking enjoy himself for once.

"Hey, baby, you wanna go out somewhere?" the ass fondler was leaning over him, laying an arm across his back. 

"Sure, you got a few hundred dollars?" Angel asked, signaling the bartender for another shot.

"I was thinking maybe dinner?" the ass fondler said hopefully.

"Yeah? Where? McDonalds' dollar value menu? Fuck off, cheapskate."

"Fuckin' slut." The hand gripped his arm hard with the tension in the wrist that promised violence.

Angel was faster. He jabbed his would be paramour hard in the ribs with a lower fist, and when he bent double, Angel grabbed his head and banged it hard on the bar. The man dropped to the floor to be collected by a bouncer who witnessed the beginning of the exchange and making a beeline for them. 

As if nothing had happened, or it was part of nightclub life, the bartender set a shot in front of Angel, which the spider demon tossed back. The crowd seemingly backed away from him, giving him space for a while. Part of his shift was to mingle with the customers charging for private dances or encouraging them to buy drinks and drugs. Right now, he wasn't in the mood to socialize, but he wasn't quite ready to call it a night. 

"Hi." 

A babyface human guy with sandy blonde hair was leaning against the next to him. Yep, must be Spring Break. Humans of legal age, coming to Pentagram City to partake in the carnal sins of legal drug use, strong drinks, and get their jollies fucking exotic demons. The cocky ones were annoying, but most tended to pay well and were fun to play with sometimes. 

"Hello," Angel said, giving him his full attention. "What's your name, handsome?"

“Brad . . .ma’am?”

Angel brushed that off. It wasn't unusual to be mistaken for a female, and it happened enough that it no longer bothered him. "Hi, Brad, what can I do for ya?"

"My friends and I wanted to know the name of the dancer in the white dress. The human one."

Angel blinked. "What?"

"She had amazing red hair . . ."

"Oh, yeah, I know who you're talkin' about," Angel ordered another shot. "Her stage name is Grace."

"That's not what the announcer said . . .well, we just wanted to know her real name."

Fuck. If there was one thing that Angel had to credit Valentino for, he kept his dancers safe from stalkers and harassment. Most dancers were given rides to and from the club, and they were referred to by their stage names by staff and other dancers. Bartenders and bouncers have been fired on the spot for accidentally letting a real name slip. 

Yet, that didn't make the customers stop asking. 

"I only know her as Grace," Angel muttered. 

"So . . .that's her real name?"

"Look, asshole, this ain't like strip joints in your podunk town," Angel said, having enough. "Where you know all the strippers cuz half of 'em are your half-sisters."

Offended, the babyface Brad glared. "No need to be a bitch."

"Oh, babe, there's always a reason to be one."

There, above Brad's head, he noticed Valentino had returned to his booth. Angel tossed back the shot and brushed past the confused human, and headed for the booth. Some tried to stop him, proposition him for a private dance or buy him a drink, but he ignored them and kept going.

A bouncer named Tony was keeping watch at the stairway, keeping the uninvited from disturbing the boss. "Angel, Valentino expecting you?"

"No, but I wanna go up anyway," Angel muttered.

"Sure, one sec," Tony spoke a few words into a radio clipped to his collar. A few seconds later, he nodded. "Go on up, Angel."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

The sweet red musk of Valentino's cigarettes mingled with Vox's cigar's ozone smelling blue smoke created a purple haze within the private booth. The two overlords had a rare friendship that sometimes delves into sexual liaisons. With Valentino cornering the sex trade and porn stations and Vox's stranglehold on media and entertainment, they created a colossal powerbase unrivaled by any of the older overlords in Pentagram City. The only one they really feared was the King himself, but as long as they toed the line, they didn't really have much to fear. 

"Angel Cakes, what do we owe for this visit?" Valentino crooned, looking satisfied as a well-fed cat. With his neck ruff, he might as well be a lion overlooking his kingdom of sin and lust. 

"Just wanted to hangout, Boss," Angel muttered, wondering exactly why he was here? Usually, he avoided Valentino whenever possible, but here he was. "I didn't see you during the show."

"Aw, baby, I had to take care of some business," Valentino exhaled a spill of smoke as he spoke. "Come sit with me. I got a few things t' discuss with Voxy here, but we can have some fun afterward."

Wow, Val was in a good mood. Whatever business he had taken care of must have gone in his favor. Usually, he demanded to know how much money Angel made before letting him take a break like this. Angel sat down next to the Moth Pimp, and a long arm curled around his waist in a possessive hold but it was also oddly comforting. 

A waitress brought more drinks, a few bags of cocaine, and more cigarettes. Angel helped himself to all three and was grateful to be a demon. He had taken enough booze and drugs to knock out an elephant, but was able to keep the party going.

He was leaning over the table, snorting up a line of coke when Val began stroking his hair. "Did you miss me, baby?"

“Maybe . . .a little?” Angel wiped his nose, noticing the hint of blood on his thumb. He'd have to take it easy on the blow for the rest of the night. 

"Aww, c' mere." 

He was drawn across Valentino's lap, a familiar place that he once loved and came to dread nowadays. Val was being nice, likable even, so he could let himself forget the pain, the brutality those black gloved hands could deal. The Moth fawned over him, black hands stroking his pink fur and limbs, taking his chin, drawing him in for a kiss. 

For the first time in a while, Angel was content to let it happen. 

A strobe light passed across the booth. It was quick, a flash, but it was enough for him to see.

"Val, what's this?" Angel turned his head and peered into the white neck ruff pockmarked with hearts.

"What?" Val grazed his cheek with his teeth. 

"This!" Angel brushed his fingers through the ruff, and they came back covered in silver glitter. Angel had seen this glitter before. It had been around Bridget's eyes as part of her stage makeup. But . . .why was it on Valentino's neck ruff?

Pieces of this puzzle realigned. Val hadn't seen his performance because he had been with . . .Bridget . . .

Bridget had a photoshoot at Porn Studios so Val wasn't at Angel's porn shoot. 

"Val . . .where were you during my porn shoot?"

"What?" Val wasn't accustomed to being on the other end of an interrogation. "I told you. I was busy."

"Busy with a redhead?" Angel hissed through gritted teeth. "I knew you smelled like Irish Spring soap!"

On the other end of the booth, Vox was taking an interest in this new exchange. His red eyes took in a confrontation that was worthy of a daytime tv soap.

"I directed her photoshoot instead of your porno, so what?" Val muttered, trying to regain control of the exchange. "You've been in hundreds of films; you don't fuckin' need me t' tell you how t' fuck on camera!"

"And she needed you t' tell her how t' sit naked for a camera?" Angel slid off Val's lap, an unfathomed fury growing in him. "What? She needed you t' help brush her long princess hair . . .holy fuckin' shit! She's Princess! You gave the bitch her own dressing room!"

"What the fuck does that have t' do with you?" Valentino glared, pink eyes becoming slits. "You got your own dressin' room."

"After I've danced for you for years! The bitch been here two days and now she's your goddamn favorite?"

There was a staticky snort behind them. Vox was leaning back on the seat, one foot propped on his knees, enjoying the show with a delighted smile. Valentino's eyes went wide before a malicious grin spread across his face.

"Angel Cakes, baby, are you fuckin' jealous?"

"NO!!!" Angel snapped. "I ain't fuckin' jealous of miss Irish Spring! Your standards are slippin' if you're impressed because she can twirl around on a pole."

"You haven't seen her dance yet?" This came from Vox, who had a curious tilt to his head. "She does more than that."

Despite how angry Angel was, he knew better than to snap off at Vox. That was a quick way of getting electrocuted on the spot if Val didn't slap the shit out of him first. Instead, he pressed on, "This morning . . .you said get Bridget t' the studio . . .you didn't give a shit about me or the others . . .it was just Bridget you were worried about!"

And Val had given him a beating for putting her in danger. 

"No fuckin' shit! I'm gonna make her a star." 

"No, you can't! Her contract is for dancing only . . ."

"She just signed a new one with me." Val reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of paper, a contract much like the one Angel had signed so long ago. On the dotted line, in impeccable handwriting, was Bridget Walsh's signature. "So you might as well get used t' her, because she's gonna be around for a long time."

Angel had no idea what prompted him to action. He had no idea what he was thinking. Nor did he understand what his intent was when he lunged for the contract—a fist connected with his middle with enough force to lift him off his feet. Then a resounding slap splashed across his face, hard enough to taste blood, and hit the floor.

Valentino loomed over him, the contract safely out of sight, but the venomous glare in the Moth Pimp's eyes glowed hot with fury. "Oh, baby, you did not just try to . . .oooohhhh, you musta got coked out of your fuckin' mind t' try that shit with me."

“Val . . .I’m sorry . . .”

"Get the fuck outta here before I do somethin' you're gonna regret," Valentino hissed.

Vox was giggling, playing a laugh track from his audio feed, loving the show. "Oooh, green eyed monster takes a swipe. Better watch this one, Val, he might take a tire iron to her knee."

Angel got painfully to his feet, his head swimming from drugs and emotions he didn't understand. "You do . . .realize she had a kid, right? So all her shit is all loosey, goosey down there."

"That's a cheapshot, Angel Cakes, even for you," Val sniffed, reclining back in his seat. "And I can personally assure you, fuckin' her is like fuckin' a virgin on prom night."

Angel Dust went down the stairs, clutching his middle while Valentino and Vox's laughter rang in his ears. 


	14. The Conflicted

“Pompous fuckin’ shithead,” Angel muttered under his breath. 

An emotion he was unfamiliar with clung to him like oil, or fucking glitter, like it did to Val’s neck ruff. Who the fuck wears glitter anyway? Who was she? A middle schooler that layers themselves in glitter and stickers?

Angel left before his shift ended. If Valentino had a problem with it, then he can have Miss Irish Spring cover for him. Then that would make all the Brads in the club as happy as pie.

He took a cab back to the hotel, uncaring of how long it would take. Pentagram City transportation was shoddy at best and dangerous at worse. He needed to calm down, but the desire to rage at the world and curse Valentino’s name was too strong. 

Then he had a better idea. 

“Hey, driver, take a turn on Brimstone square. I wanna go somewhere else.”

***

Dark blast marks stained the craters, and the alley flared brightly as another expulsion sent up a spray of brick and mortar. 

Cherri’s turf tended to be pockmarked with craters, and blast damage, with some buildings, collapsed in their foundations. The only standing whole sectors were where Cherri made her home, but even the outside bore some superficial damage from smaller bombs. 

“Fuck you, Valentino, you fuckin’ fuck!” Angel howled as he threw a hot pink grenade down into an alley, imagining he was aiming for the pimp’s fall hat. “70 fuckin’ years of suck in’ your dick, fuckin’ your customers, being your goddamn punchin’ bag, and deal in’ with your bullshit and you replace me with a GODDAMN IRISH PRINCESS!!!”

The bomb answered his fury with a loud boom, which would have been sweeter if Val’s brains and blood splattered the wall. Angel grabbed another grenade from a bag of them at this feet. 

“I hope her diamond pussy fits well with your dick, you motherfucka!” Angel threw the second grenade. 

When the blast died down, he could hear peaks of laughter behind him. Cherri Bomb was bent double, giggling with her long hair shaking like a flag behind her. “Oh my god, Angie, how do you know her pussy is made of diamonds?”

“It’d have t’ be t’ get Val’s attention.” Angel grabbed another bomb and hurled it. “Dance on this bitch!”

After the third bomb, throwing bombs had sated his fury, but now what was left behind was a deep sorrow he didn’t understand or had a name for. He leaned against the parapet and took a long drag on his cigarette and regretted it as the smoke rose in a crimson line from the top. “Fuck.”

The smoke swirled as the cigarette fell into the alley. Usually, eating a cigarette would have annoyed him, but he was too morose to care. A camaraderie hand fell onto his shoulder as Cherri joined him. She held out a bottle of Demon’s Milk, a beer that’s been gaining popularity for demons of lesser means as having a sweet after taste. Angel accepted the beer, broke off the cap on the parapet, and took a long drink. 

“I don’t think you see how awesome this is,” Cherri said, leaning her hip against the parapet and watching him with a jovial air. 

“Whattaya mean?” Angel was in no mood for jokes or putting a positive spin on this. 

“Angie, the Irish Princess is your lightning rod!” Cherri hopped on the parapet, kicking her legs. “She’s diverting that bastard’s attention away from you.”

Angel blinked. “What?”

“Think about it. He didn’t show for your filming or your act because he was too busy sniffing up Irish Princess’s skirts.” Cherri held out her hands in a demonstration. “If Valentino is busy with her, then he’s off your back. She’ll be the one to suck his dick. She’ll be the one to deal with his bullshit. And when he’s pissed, she’ll be the punching bag!”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” Angel muttered, looking down into the cracked alley in deep thought. “Just let her take the heat off me?”

“Yeah, man! Look, Valentino is never gonna let you go as long as you’re the ‘cash cow’, but what if someone else becomes the ‘cash cow’?” Cherri motioned outward as if indicating an invisible Bridget and then pointed at him. “He’s more likely to let you go if he’s got someone to take your place. Especially if you prove you can make him money by managing your own track.”

***

Cherri’s words stayed with him for the long trip to the hotel. Could it really be that easy? Just let Bridget take his place as Valentino’s piece of candy?

Was she that good enough?

Pulling out his phone, it took several searches on Voobtube to find a video of her first performance. The phone’s camera had shaken and shot between jostling heads and fists waving money, but he could watch a good stretch of her performance, and he had to admit . . .the Irish Princess was talented. And right at the tail end, a familiar stream of smoke encircled her waist.

Shit, that had to be when Valentino scouted her out. 

Angel could almost envision how it played out. Valentino got her alone, talked to her, and looked her over as an equestrian would examine a thoroughbred. He wondered what Valentino had promised her? What gifts did he give her to convince her he was a benevolent sugar daddy? It had taken Val a week to convince him to sign a contract . . .and she had done it after one day. 

How long before she realized the truth? That she wasn’t signing on as a worker, but as a damn slave? 

Well, his freedom was in sight. Everything Cherri said made sense. Even if Valentino never let him go, having someone else divert the pain and the abuse away from him . . .that would be a . . . a lucky break? He didn’t get too many of those.

When he arrived at the hotel, Husk was behind the counter, still drinking even though it was nearly 2:00 in the morning. As Angel headed for the stairs, Husk called him.

“Hey, got somethin’ for ya.”

“What is it?”

“Open it up and see what it is,” Husk reached under the counter and dropped an envelope on the bartop. “It’s from redhead.”

On the front of the envelope was the same tidy handwriting he had seen on Bridget’s contract:  _ To Angel _ . The memory of the exchange between himself and Val brought back a ghost of his helpless fury, and he snatched the envelope off the counter and ripped it open. Inside were several large bills, the amount she owed as part of her quota. 

“At least she pays,” Angel muttered. “She grabbed her kid?”

“Yeah, asked me t’ keep watchin’ her kid at nights. Said somethin’ about signin’ on with someone . . .wasn’t payin’ too much attention though . . .”

“She signed a contract with Valeninto.”

Husk had been about to tip a bottle towards his lips but paused, long brows rising in tall loops. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“Nope. Did it t’night.” Angel muttered, slipping the money into his jacket pocket. 

“And ya just let ‘er do that?”

Raising his eyes to Husker, he noted a hint of accusation in his amber eyes. “I had no fuckin’ clue Val was sniffin’ around her and so what? Her choice.”

“Doesn’t she know what he’s like?” 

Even though Angel had managed to keep his injuries and bruises hidden from Charlie and Vaggie, Husk had been up to see Angel hobbling into the lobby after a brutal beating from Valentino too often not to be in the know. Sometimes Angel suspected Alastor was aware of it and had chosen to keep mum about it for whatever reason. Maybe he enjoyed seeing Angel occasionally fucked up. 

Angel shrugged all four shoulders. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Neither do I,” Husk retorted before taking a deep swig from the bottle. His throat bobbed as he gulped down the contents and sighed when he finished. “I don’t care . . .but . . .damn, Angel, ya don’t let a fellow soldier walk into a minefield blind. Whether they’re your best pal or an asshole.”

***

“God, this is bullshit!” Angel moaned into his pillow.

Fat Nuggets made a sympathetic snort as he settled beneath Angel’s arm. 

“Cherri says it’s a good thing, but Husky says it ain’t. And I don’t know which of ‘em are right.” Angel stroked the pig’s head, ruffling the floppy ears. “Why not let Miss Irish Spring take the heat off me? If she wants to be Valentino’s top bitch, let her!”

The thought brought a fresh wave of anger and pain towards Bridget. “Dammit . . . I guess I could . . .warn her. Let her know that Valentino is a sadistic fuck, but I do that . . .then what if she tries t’ back out? Maybe break the contract?”

Was there a grace period for humans? Were the rules different if a human signs a contract with a demon? Angel never paid attention to such matters, but could it be possible? But if she broke the deal. . .then what if Valentino tightened his hold on him? And it was her choice to sign a contract, just as it had been his choice 70 years ago.

An annoying voice in his head pointed out  _ if you could go back to that time 70 years ago, would you have signed the deal with Valentino?  _

Shouldn’t she have that chance too? Or was it too late, and he should just let the matter rest?

***

Across Pentagram City, Angel wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

Bridget put Connor down for bed, cleaned the apartment, did a load of laundry, folded clothes, and put them away. She made her bed and thought about how she wanted better sheets, which prompted her to make a shopping list. The money she made dancing tonight and from the photoshoot replenished her meager funds many times over. She could afford nicer things like better sheets, a high chair for Connor, good brands of soaps, and shampoo.

Thank god, she had the day off tomorrow because sleep wouldn’t come. No, it was the opposite. She didn’t want to sleep because doing so would mean slowing down and thinking about what happened tonight.

What had she agreed to do? What had she allowed to happen to her? 

Valentino confused her. She was grateful to him, but being around him made her feel tense as if she had to watch her step. Yet, she willingly had sex with him. He had been gentle but overwhelming and dominating. Looking in the mirror, she could see a faint mark where he had given her a love bite. 

_ Wanted t’ see how sweet ya taste, sugar. _

It hadn’t broken the skin but left behind little pink imprints of teeth in a large oval along her ribs beneath her left breast. It had been pressure and a bit of pain, but it had startled her, reminded her of his inhuman nature, and how easily he could rip her apart if the whim ever arose. 

_ That’s the danger of dealing with demons _ , she recalled someone saying.  _ Be a demon long enough, and they forget what it was to be human. They’re so used to healing from any injury, they forget that humans can’t do the same. This is why you get accidents in Pentagram City of people having their limbs broken when a demon played too rough, and those are just accidents. You don’t wanna see what happens when a demon really wants to hurt someone. _

“It’s too late now,” she sighed. 

Again, she experienced that falling sensation after stepping off a cliff. Soon she was going to either find her wings or hit the ground. And wouldn’t just be her that crashed and burned. Connor depended on her to provide, and if that meant shaking her ass in a nightclub, taking off her clothes for a camera, or having sex on film . . .then that’s what she would have to do. 

  
  
  


__

  
  



	15. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some hateful slurs in this chapter.

When Angel woke up after a few hours of sleep, he decided on a middle ground. It was none of his business if Bridget signs a contract with Val, but if she asks him about it, he would tell her.

How the fuck would that conversation play out?

**Miss Irish Spring** : Top o' the morning to ye, me wee pink spider boyo! 

**Angel** : Good, good, enjoying your Lucky Charms?

**Miss Irish Spring** : Aye! Tastes as sweet as the rainbows of the dear land o' me birth, Ireland. I have betwixt my ruddy ears a puzzle for ye. The bugger, Valentino, how is it to shovel his mines?

"Well, for starters," Angel said to the ceiling and to no one in particular. "He'll make ya feel like shit, slap ya around if he's in a bad mood, make ya fuck people you don't wanna, force ya to work crazy hours to make his money, and oh, consider yourself lucky if ya take home a quarter of your earnings."

Even saying it out loud was . . . bad.

"Oh, don't let me forget," Angel continued to no one. "He'll rape you. Sometimes he'll do it t' put ya in your place or because he's horny and you just happen t' be there. Suck t's be you then."

A cold sweat broke out beneath his fur as an unwanted flashback of pain and humiliation. His limbs pinned, and body twisted as the sweet musk of crimson smoke filled his nostrils. He had to remind himself that he wasn't at the Porn Studios anymore, he was at the hotel, and Valentino was further away than just down the hall. 

"Fuck." 

Angel left the bed quickly before the flashback could reclaim him. After taking a long hot shower, he felt better, soberer, and clear-headed. He would figure out what to do about Bridget if he saw her today. 

As he toweled himself dry, he checked his messages and saw an email from Porn Studios. His first thought it was from Val, but he did most of his communications by text. Angel opened it and read the message. 

It was from operations that were giving him admin access to the scheduling app for his charges. It also allowed him to adjust the schedules per worker and make or cancel appts. There was even a ledger that calculated quotas and determined how much was owed and been paid. Angel doubted the Moth Pimp came up with such a user friendly app and supposed that Velvet may have set it up for him and his managers.

And it looks like some of them already have appointments scheduled for today. Diamanté was booked for 3:00 to 6:00 at the  _ Leather and Lace _ club. And MK was scheduled to work her shift at another BDSM theme club called  _ the Dungeon _ . 

Mishill had a date tonight at 8:00 at the Midnight Song music club. 

And it seemed dear old Bridget of Ireland got the day off. That was one worry he can push until it was convenient to consider again. 

And that left … Keiko. Dammit. 

There was a link with her live stream. He tapped the link and waited while the streaming app installed and loaded. And…….there she was! Sitting on the bed in a teen girl school uniform and unboxing a dildo. 

"Sooooo, this is the Cervix Pounder from Go-Max-or-Go-Home." Keiko droned on as she showed off the box. "Says it's supposed to rock my fucking world. We shall soon see."

And Angel closed out the link as he did not wish to see. 

After checking the quotas and counting the money Bridget gave him over the last two days, she was less than halfway paid. Keiko was doing well, and if she took enough requests today, she'd match Bridget in quotas. A close two out of five wasn't a bad start, and he had to make sure the other three went to their stations and didn't fuck up. 

***

"Husky, I needa favor . . ."

"Fuck off, Angel, I'm already working as a bartender, receptionist, and goddamn nanny. Got no more time for anythin' else." Husk barely looked up from the game of solitaire he had spread out on the counter.

"C'mon, baby, I just need ya to make a phone call for me," Angel leaned against the counter, interposing his face between Husk and the cards, invading the cat's personal space. "You speak French, right?

Husk cocked a long eyebrow. "Enough to order a drink and a hooker."

"What? You can speak Russian, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, and Spanish, but you can't speak French?"

Husk shrugged. "Why ya need me t' speak French for?"

***

"Are ya sure about this?" 

"Yeah, but whatever ya say, don't call her a bitch or she'll jump through the phone and kick our asses."

"Fuck, alright, but I warned ya my French ain't too good . . ."

"Yeah, but maybe hearin' it in French will mellow out her bitchiness."

Angel selected Mishill's contact and dialed the number. It took several rings before there was an answer and a string of French came across the phone. 

" _ Qui m' appelle?" _

After shooting Angel a hard look, Husk made the attempt. " _ Bonjour, uh, mademoiselle prostituee?" _

_ “Qui est-ce qui m'appelle et m'insulte?” _

Husk furrowed his brow in concentration. “Angel Dust’s . . . uh . . .uh . . .  _ l' époux.” _

_ “Pourquoi le mari d'Angel Dust m'appelle-t-il?” _

It’s about . . .uhhh . . .date?”

" _ Oui _ . Tonight at 8:00. Midnight Song."

_ "Bien, bien," _ Husk said, noticing Angel nodding, relieved. " _ Merci." _

When the phone call ended, Husk looked Angel in the eye. "Don't ever ask me t' do that again."

"Sure, Husky, til next time," Angel winked. "I'll give ya a proper thanks later."

"Fuck off," Husk muttered. "And tell redhead t' bring more of those baby cereal puffs. Fat Nuggets like 'em too."

***

A buzzing noise near Bridget's ear woke her. Rubbing her eyes with one hand and fumbling for her phone with the other, she tapped Accept Call and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Ms. Bridget Walsh?" It was a woman's voice, young and preppy. "I was just calling to confirm your appointment for tomorrow."

"What appointment?" Bridget struggled not to yawn in the woman's ear.

"At the BBG clinic. You're scheduled for a pelvic exam, STDs testing, and a consultation for tubal ligation."

"Wait, wait, I . . .I don't have insurance . . ."

"Oh, no worries, the visit and procedures have already been paid for by Porn Studios."

"Oh . . .that's right." The contract she signed last night stated it would handle any medical care related to her new job. It was surprising how quickly they arranged an appointment for her. "What time?"

"8:00 tomorrow morning at the BBG clinic."

"What does BBG stand for?"

There was a slight pause. "It's a silly nickname the demons came up. It means Baby Be Gone."

Pentagram City didn't carry much sympathy and had a pessimistic nature to it. Which she supposed was natural as it was the home for demons and sinners. 

"And one more question, what's a tubal ligation?"

"It's a procedure to prevent female pregnancy. It's getting your tubes tied."

Bridget blinked. "That's not reversible, is it?"

"Unfortunately, no."

She was in no hurry to have another baby, but she didn't want the option to have children later taken from her. "I already have a birth control implant in my arm. I don't think I need something that extreme."

"It was requested by Porn Studios."

Bridget's lips tighten into a thin line. "It's just a consultation? You're not going to actually do the procedure in office?"

"Oh no, surgeries and procedures are booked differently."

"I'll be there tomorrow. Thank you."

***

Diamante and MK lived together in an apartment on Merry Lane, one of the most dangerous streets in Pentagram City. It was dangerous enough that Dan drove with a shotgun across his lap, and Angel Dust kept an eye out for an ambush. If choosing to live out here wasn't tantamount to the couple's flair for danger, then Angel didn't want to know what would. 

Their apartment was in a rundown tenant house with a broken metal grates door that hung off the hinges and squealed when Angel pushed it out of the way. He had Dan circle around the block as a parked car was too tempting a target for thieves. The stairs creaked beneath his weight, and something nasty with sharp legs tried to crawl across his boot, but he kicked it away with a disgusted snort. 

When he finally reached their room, he had evaded several crude offers from ugly men in the hall, stepped over two passed out drinks, and managed not to step in something he wasn't sure was mud or something worse. Rapping the door didn't produce Diamante or MK, but hammering on it with a fist did.

The door swung open, and a bleary eyed Diamante wearing nothing more than speedos blinked at him. Angel Dust gave him a once over and had to admit that Diamante cut a nice figure with a thin muscular frame with nice legs and chest. However, the only thing that marred the attraction was the numerous lacerations and bruises along his limbs. 

"What the fuck happened t' you?" Angel demanded. 

"Oh,  _ mi amor _ and I had a little fun last night," Diamante yawned. "You should have come by. We would have loved for you to join,  _ amigo _ ."

"Christ and Satan, ya gotta gig in a few hours!"

"I . . .I do?" Diamante blinked in confusion.

"Yeah!" Angel threw his hands towards Diamante's less than pristine state. "Clients don't like bruises they didn't make!"

"You're right. One moment." Diamante called over his shoulder. "Baby, get the shower ready!"

"Those aren't gonna wash off," Angel followed Diamante inside. "What the fuck did she use? A crowbar?"

The apartment was run down with sparse furniture that looked like it was collected from the local dump. An overturn tub served as a coffee table littered with empty beer bottles and dirty ashtrays. There was even an open heroin kit at the edge. 

"No, no, she prefers whips and paddles," Diamante said, picking up a smoking cigarette from the ashtray and taking a drag on it. "MK,  _ mi amor _ , we have company!"

There was a screech from behind a bathroom door followed by the spray of water. "One moment. Gettin' your shower ready, babe."

Then MK made her appearance wearing little more than Diamante. Angel couldn't be sure whether she knew he was gay and wouldn't be aroused, or perhaps she just didn't give a shit exposing her naked tits to others. She kissed Diamante on the cheek as he brushed past her into the bedroom. 

"He'll be out inna minute. It doesn't take long if he uses a new cheese grater."

"What?" Angel blinked.

"Oh, it's one of his demon powers. He can instantly heal his wounds, but he has to molt to do it." MK said down, leaning forward to close the heroin kit and setting bottles aside. "It's a little gross and it clogs the shower drain, but his skin is as smooth as a baby's butt when he’s done. Want a beer?"

His head still hurt from last night's drinking binge with Cherri and sharing a drink with Husk. Shrugging, he sat down in an armchair, mindful of the springs poking out. "Gonna get some better furniture in here?"

"Aw, but we like it," MK reached over into a cooler filled with melted ice and fished out a beer. 

It was a cheaper brand than what Angel liked, but hey, free beer was a free beer. MK opened it on the clawed foot of the tub and passed it to him. He took a sip and winced at the raw taste. "Shit."

"Straight from Texas," MK reclined back in her chair, crossing her legs. "It's a dear place for us . . .we met there."

"Oh, how long ya knew him?" He supposed he had time for some small talk while Diamante got ready. 

"Since I was twelve years old."

Angel choked on the beer. Sputtering, he set it down hard enough to almost crack the glass. When he could manage it, he wheezed, "What the fuck!? When you were a goddamn kid!?"

MK tilted her head, confused by his reaction, then realization dawned on her. "Oh no, no! He was twelve years old too! This was before he died! He's only been dead about twenty years."

She explained that they grew up together in a rural Texas community until they dropped out of high school. Since both of their family lives were less than ideal, they lived together in a trailer until the day Diamante died in a car wreck and resurrected as a demon. Though the members of their community had outright ignored them as Latino shacking up with a white trash woman, they were up in arms about a demon living within miles of their beloved schools and churches. 

"It was sad. Diamante's own mother wouldn't answer the door when he tried to say goodbye."

Angel recalled when he resurrected as a demon. Fortunately, larger urban cities were more tolerant of demons . . .even more so than gays back in the '30s and '40s. Even his own family, save for Molly, shunned him, using his new form as another means of rejecting him. It had been sweet, sweet, justice to see both Arackniss and Henroin show up in Pentagram City as demons themselves. Molly had married a nice man, grew old with him, and ascended to Heaven thirty years ago. Angel kept in touch with her from Pentagram City and had sent an occasional email to her children and grandchildren, his nieces and nephews. It was nothing more than a Christmas e-card, but it was nice to see that some part of her still lived in the world.

He was supposed he was luckier than most demons who were shunned or driven off from smaller, more religious communities. Demons were outright banned from some Middle Eastern countries or forced into apartheid communities where they are exposed to the yearly Cleansing unless they can seek asylum in Pentagram City. 

"We've been on the road ever since."

Angel wondered how they got into the sex work business, but it was none of his concern. Everyone got into this business for their own reasons.

Diamante appeared from the bedroom door wearing only a towel. There were no signs of any lacerations or bruises, and his skin had a nice healthy shine to it. A bit of flaky clung to the back of his neck, which MK plucked away when she embraced him to enjoy his new soft skin.

"So what do we owe to this visit?" Diamante said, sitting on the couch with MK perched on his knee. "You said we had gigs?"

"Yeah! MK's gotta shift at the Dungeon Club and Dia's got a client booked for 3:00 t' 6:00 at  _ Leather and Lace _ ."

The couple looked at each other, and then each gave him twin quizzical looks. It was MK who spoke, "We're a bit surprised we got clients and shifts so soon after . . .well, didn't Mr. Horace tell Mr. Valentino about us?"

Angel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Nope . . .what would Mr. Horace say?"

"Well, my last client has no nipples because of me," MK shrugged.

"And I stole my client's car and crashed it into a lake," Diamante supplemented.

Jaw-dropping, Angel, looked between the two of them. "What the fuck? Why?"

"Well, my client was a racist asshole," MK explained. "He said some unkind things about Mexicans such as my bae." She rubbed his knee as if soothing away a hurt. 

"And my client was an egotistical bitch that needed to be humbled," Diamante added. 

"So . . .you wrecked her car and you . . . cut off his nipples?" 

Angel was awed at their audacity but realized they had never worked for a pimp like Valentino before. If he had done such things to a client . . .Valentino would have done far, far worse to him afterward. Even today, he shuddered when he remembered what Valentino had done to him when he had filched a client's wallet after a session.

"No! I don't handle sharps," MK said, shaking her head. "I used a lighter."

***

"Alright, assholes, what are we not gonna do?"

"Hurt the clients," Diamante sighed.

"But . . .it's my job to hurt them," MK protested.

"I know, I know," Angel groaned. "I mean no cuttin' or burnin' off their bits. Okay? None of that! No stealing either!"

The car cut through the nicer part of Pentagram City, the areas with the gardens and maintained shops. It was a short cut to the Red Light districts where the  _ Dungeon  _ and  _ Leather and Lace  _ stood. It must have been the city's architects joke to have such an upstanding place be so close to the sex and fetish clubs. 

His phone rang with Porn Studios appearing on the caller ID. "Shit, what is it now?"

He accepted the call and a nervous female voice spoke, "H-hello . . .Angel Dust?"

"Yeah, toots, whatcha want?"

"It's K-Chan . . .she got out of the Porn Studios."

"What!? She was unboxing a dildo this morning!"

"She used it to club the guard at her door."

"Sonuvbitch . . .then how did she get out of the studio!"

"Oh . . . she had that lube that brings a warm tingling sensation to the skin. It burns like mace when it's squirted in the eyes."

Angel sighed. "Goddammit. Where the fuck did she go?"

"I don't know where she's going, but we have been tracking her phone. She's somewhere on Bower St."

Angel glanced at the street sign and nodded, "Alright, I'll bring her back. Loop ads on her stream until then."

***

They spotted Keiko walking along Bower St. They would have missed her if she hadn't been wearing the schoolgirl uniform she was famous for in her live streams. Angel wondered why she didn't try to ditch the uniform but figured that she didn't have a change of clothes. Yet, it was still stupid not to ditch the phone. He supposed modern people in this day and age just can't be parted with their devices. Oh well, this made this even easier.

"Wait, wait, you can't mean that little girl," MK said, leaning against the window with her nose almost pressed against the glass. "How old is she? Fifteen!?"

"Nah, she's 22. She just passes herself off as a teenager for views," Angel explained as he lowered the window. "And she's got the mouth of a salty 60 year old war vet. Dan, don't stop the car. Move close to the curb."

Seeing what he was planning, Diamante supported him around the waist as he leaned his upper body out the window. With all four arms spread out, he resembled a genuine spider about to grab a victim. It was all too easy in how he grabbed Keiko around the waist and plucked her off the street. Keiko was so surprised and unaware of being followed that her feet continued to walk seconds after leaving the ground. Angel drew her inside the car and plopped her down between him and Diamante. The stunned look on her face was comical as she suddenly found herself off the street and inside a moving vehicle.

"Aw, shit! Eat my fucking ass, you bitches!" 

***

In a nearby cafe, Vaggie and Charlie starred in utter horror at what they had seen. 

"Did Angel just . . ." Vaggie whispered, setting down her coffee cup on the table. "Did he just grab. . . that little girl?"

"Oh my God!" Charlie moaned, covering her face with both hands. "Now he's trafficking kids off the street!? We're doing something wrong!"

"Honey, no, no, we're not doing anything wrong," Vaggie went to Charlie's side of the table to draw an arm around her shoulders. "He's a lost cause. I told you that from the beginning he was no good."

The second floor of a restaurant across the street was two spider demons who watched the entire incident down below. 

Henroin drew a deep drag on his cigar and released a long stream of smoke. "Niss, wasn't dat yer bro . . .Anthony?"

"Yeah, I think so, Pops."

"And he just grabbed dat kid offa the street? He's into diddling kiddos now?"

"I . . .I don't know, Pops, dis comes as a surprise ta me too."

"I . . .suppose it's an improvement over being a faggot if the kid's a girl, right?"

Arackniss wasn't one to contradict his father, especially since doing so could result in a fist in the face or cutting words. However, in this situation, he felt he had firm ground to stand on. "Uh, no, Pops, no. Diddlin' kids isn't an improvement over bein' a fag."


	16. The Crash

**Val** : Come to Porn Studios tomorrow at 1:00.

**Bridget** : Is it for another photo shoot?

**Val:** We’re going to work on your next dance routine. What you have now is good, but clients get bored quick. Gotta give them something new.

**Bridget** : Okay. 

**Bridget** : I got a phone call from BBG. They want to consult me about getting my tubes tied. 

. . . 

**Val** : It’s standard procedure for human women when they have human male clients. If you have other means of birth control, I can put it off for now.

**Bridget** : Thank you, sir.

She backspaced on ‘sir.’

**Bridget** : Thank you, Daddy.

***

“Why the fuck do ya keep runnin’!?”

“Eat my ass, Pinkie,” Keiko responded, toying with her phone. 

“Hey! I’m talkin’ t’ ya.” Angel ripped the phone from her hands. “Pay a-fuckin’-ttention!”

“Give that back!” Keiko shrieked, lunging for the phone.

There was a round of slaps, kicks, and headbutts that rocked the back of the car. It ended when Diamante wrapped his arms around Keiko’s waist and wrenched her off Angel, but since she had two fistfuls of Angel’s hair in her hands, he was towed along.

“Let go, ya little bitch!”

“Fuck you! Gimme back my phone!”

“Hey! Watch it!”

The phone spiraled out of the open window. A shrill scream rented through the car, piercing ears and causing Dan to swerve into traffic. More cries of terror came when the black vehicle almost glanced off a Cadillac and went off the road and onto the street. And collided into a light post. 

The first to regain their senses after the crash was Dan, and the first thing he noticed was he was no longer alone in the front seat. Shifting and moaning, Angel Dust checked all six of his limbs and found them all attached and unbroken. He was wrenched between the seats with his legs over the passenger seat in a position he usually reserved for the more adventurous clients. 

As he pulled himself out of the position, an angry ball of Japanese landed on his middle and began punching him. If her arms had been any longer, her blows would have landed on his face. Instead, she launched blow after blow into his chest puff, which didn’t cause much pain, but still awkward. 

“You stupid pink spider bastard!” Keiko groused between punches. “Why is punching your man tits like punching a pillow!?”

“Get offa me!” Angel smacked her until she rolled off him and hauled himself into the backseat.

MK and Diamanté seemed to be in one piece. The lizard demon protected MK with his body and tail, taking the brunt from being slung around in the backseat.

Before Angel could fill right himself, Keiko was already out the door and running down the street. “Goddammit!”

This was it. He was going to kill her. Valentino can kick the shit out of him later, but nothing the Moth Pimp could do would erase the satisfaction of ending the little foul mouth bitch’s life. 

The reason why Keiko continued to live was that Diamante and MK intervened on her behalf. Angel would have thrown her scrawny ass into oncoming traffic once he got his hands on her. And Keiko probably would have let him as she held the shattered remains of her phone as if she was grieving a pet that’s been run over. 

“You fucking bastard! This has all my contacts!”

“So? Just email your parents . . .”

“My fans, you dumbass! The ones that pay extra for me to talk smack to them over the phone.”

“Aw fuck! You don’t have those saved somewhere else?”

“No, you idiot! Everything is on my phone!” Keiko was almost weeping. “My plane tickets!”

“You little fucker! You were tryin’ t’ flee the city!”

“Oh, eat my ass!”

***

Bridget bought the stroller for the compartment at the back that allowed parents to store groceries and other items while carrying their babies around during shopping. She could have left Connor at the daycare while she shopped, but the last two days have been so busy that she missed being with him. He was a good boy watching the cars going by over his dodie with wide blue eyes and not being fussy as some overwhelmed babies.

He’s always been laid back. Like his father . . .

Turning a corner, she recognized the black car, but it had a massive dent in the hood, and the headlights were broken. And sure enough, Dan was in the driver’s seat playing on his phone while MK leaned against the front of a store smoking a cigarette. She looked up and waved when Bridget approached.

“Hi! Small world!” MK said, grinning at Bridget before looking down at Connor. “Oh my god! Is this your baby?”

“Yes, this is Connor.”

“He is such a darlin’,” MK said, bending down to be on level with Connor, who was giving her a curious look. “With that head of dark hair, he must take after his daddy.”

“Yeah . . .he does,” Bridget swallowed, her throat feeling tight. 

“You don’t have to work t’day?” MK asked, waggling her fingers to entertain Connor. 

“I have the day off, but I do have to go in tomorrow to the studios.”

“Ah, another photoshoot or . . .”

“Just to go over choreography for a new dance routine.”

“Sure.” 

Bridget didn’t know if MK believed her or said it sardonically. It didn’t matter what she thought. They were all in the business together and didn’t have to be friends. She noticed the window slightly rolled down from the corner of her eye and a flash of pink.

She didn’t have to talk to him . . .well, actually she did. She had to make sure that Husk gave him the money. Letting MK watch Connor for a minute, she went to the car window. “Mr. . . .oh . . .Angel Dust?”

There was a pause, long enough to make her believe he was pointedly ignoring her, but the window rolled down further. She couldn’t read the expression in the pink spider demon’s eyes as they slid over her. Accustomed to being given the once over by everyone, she wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except how he examined her. His eyes stared at her face, neck, then to her arms exposed from the elbows as if he were looking for something.

“I wanted to make sure you got the money . . .”

“I got it.”

“Oh, okay, well, good. I’m going to the Porn Studios tomorrow . . .”

“Don’t need ya t’ tell me. The Boss . . .Val, tells me things.” His eyes narrowed slightly as his face pinched. “He tells me a lotta things.”

“Uh, sure.” She was taken aback by the spark tone in his voice. “I’ll . . .go now since we don’t have anything to talk about.”

She turned away from the car.

“Red . . .”

Pausing, she looked back. “Yes?”

“It’s . . .about . . .” He seemed at a loss for words. “I . . .just wanted to tell you . . .” Then his eyes narrowed again. “Those pants make your ass look fat. Don’t wear ‘em in public again or people gonna think Val whores out fatties.”

In a burst of fury, Bridget gave him the finger. “Eat shite and die!”

***

She seemed fine. There were no bruises on her face or arms, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any hidden beneath her clothes. Val knew where to punch, so bruises couldn’t be seen. However, she didn’t have that haunted or frightened look he had seen in the eyes of hookers who had made the mistake of crossing Valentino. 

No, she was too fresh. The Moth Pimp wouldn’t want her bruised too early. And being a dancer without fur would keep her safe . . .until she crossed a line. 

Two voices were crawling around inside his head. One sounded like Cherri telling him it was good Val was paying so much attention to Bridget. Let her take the heat off him for a while. Another voice that was raspy like Husk told him he had to warn her. However, dominating them was a third voice, a voice that was his own was howling, furious, and painful with questions. 

Did Val text her or call her?

What did they talk about? 

Did they talk during sex?

What gifts did Val give her?

What did she see in him?

What did Val see in her?

_ Angel Cakes, baby, are you jealous of the new girl? _

“Fuck . . . “ Angel moaned. “I am jealous.”

***

Diamante and Keiko returned from buying a new phone and regaining all the information from the old one. It would cost him part of his quota, but oddly that was the furthest thing from his mind right now. He ignored Keiko as she tried to bait him into another confrontation, nodding along when she told him to eat her ass and responding when she called him Pinkie. 

Why was he jealous? Jealous of what? Being beaten? Getting shouted at? Being raped?

Yet, it was there like a sore tooth or a rock in a shoe. Thinking about Valentino overseeing Bridget’s photoshoot instead of directing his porno made him clench his teeth. And it burned him to imagine Val having sex with Bridget while he danced. Valentino had often watched him work the pole, leering at him from his perch above the guests. Sometimes enticing him with that damn red smoke of his. Sometimes, when Angel was feeling daring or challenging, he would shoot a rude sign at the Moth Pimp. For a long time, he had thought he would be pleased if Valentino was absent from his performances, but now it irked him to think the pimp had watched Bridget instead.

“Hey, stop ignoring me!” 

Keiko was poking him in the arm with a sharp fingernail. “I call you tampon dipped in Pepto Bismol and you got nothing to say to that?”

Rousing himself, Angel returned, “Shut the fuck up you chattering little fail abortion.”

“Oh, fuck you, you nasty pink pickle.”

“Wow, must have taken you two seconds to think of that one.”

“Eat my ass.”

“Whatever.”


	17. The Eating of the Ass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may be the craziest chapter I've ever written.

By the time Bridget returned home and put Connor down for a nap, she got the email for her new schedule from Valentino. Three nights a week, she was dancing at Pandora's Box. The other nights are listed as Porn Studios at different times. It looks like Husk was going to be her long term babysitter, but it felt wrong to use him when she hated his friend so much. 

She didn't expect to find many polite people in Pentagram City, but it was as if Angel Dust went out of his way to insult her every time they shared the same air. 

Since Connor was down for a nap, she took this time to perform stretches and exercises in the corner of the living room she cleared for workouts. The windowsill was tall enough to serve as a ballet bar where she performed tendus in an old pair of pointe shoes. Later, she would have to break in a pair of new ones before tomorrow night's performance.

Maintaining her body and dance skill usually calming, but her mind churned with questions about what would happen to her at Porn Studios.

Doing the nude photoshoot had been an experience. Taking off her clothes during a performance while people cheered and threw money was different. There was an emotional distance between her and them, with her mind occupied with dancing. However, posing nude for a camera stripped off a barrier between her and the viewer. Bridget wouldn't call it a wholly bad experience but was still not something she was in a hurry to repeat.

But the profit was good. She never imagined modeling nude could make so much money. Her rent was paid, her fridge was stocked, Connor had plenty of diapers and formula, and she even had enough left over to put into a savings account. Never in her life had she had so much money of her own. Her parents had money, the Swanson Company had money, and Devin had money, though not very much of it. 

She felt freer for having it, and a safety net was growing beneath her as she saved every dollar she could. 

Once she finished her workout, she drew a hot bath to ease the aches and tired muscles. As the water soothed her into a warm lassitude, her thoughts drifted to her new boss, Valentino. He was … quite different from Queenie. 

The strip club owner was content to let the dancers do as they pleased as long as they drew in customers and money. She only left her office when there was an altercation with a customer, which was thankfully rare in the Palace. And if she needed to speak with a dancer, they were summoned to her office. 

Valentino was more hands-on… especially when he took an interest in her. 

Bridget sank down into the tub until only her nose was above water. The pound of her heartbeat and the distant roar of her blood flowing filled her ears. Bridget could hear Valentino's voice loud and clear in that dissonance of echoes, directing her during the photo shoot. 

_ Keep your legs open, sugar. Better yet, put your leg over the arm of the chair. Yes, just like that. _

The electrical sensation spread across her skin, and her lips pressed together when her body recalled what he had done minutes before that shoot. 

_ Imma need somethin' more for this next shoot. _

He shouldn't have done that. 

It felt nice . . .

It still wasn't right. __

_ There was no sense in fretting about it now. It happened, it's in the past, and there's nothing I can do about it now. _

Her hands slid down her stomach and pelvis. They were smaller, softer compared to his, with the fingertips round and smooth. It wasn't the same but felt good all the same.

***

After dropping off the crazies at their respective appointments, Angel Dust took Keiko back to the porn studios, but not without reading her a riot act.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya?" Angel demanded as Dan pulled the car into the garage. 

"Eat my ass," Keiko rolled her eyes.

"And what the fuck is that? Why the fuck do you keep saying that!?"

"It's my catch phrase!" Keiko snapped, adjusting the settings of her new phone. "I tried the meek, shy school girl thing when I first got started, but all the Japanese camgirls were doing that too! So I had to do something to stand out."

"Soooo, the whole attitude thing is . . .is an act?" Angel Dust said, blinking at her.

Shrugging, Keiko glanced up at him. "Partly. I still think you're a giant pink dick."

"Ugh, whatever," Angel muttered. "And the running away? You know that Val doubles the interest each time ya run."

"So? The yakuza did the same thing so many times that I could be camming for the next fifty years and I'd still owe 'em. I'm already so deep in the hole, I might as well dig in further until I break out in China."

"Yeah, but . . .why?" Angel demanded. "You're fed, clothed, got free room and board. Hell, ya don't even hafta walk the streets like some of us do to meet quotas."

"So?" Keiko repeated, turning narrow dark eyes to him. "Prisoners are given free meals, clothes, and room and board, but they still try to get outta prison. You never tried to get the fuck away from Val?"

Something caught in his throat as an unwanted memory reached up from the past and claimed him.

_ "Angel Cakes, baby, ya broke my heart." _

_ Hands pinned him down, bruising and hurting his already painful body.  _

_ "Now I have to break you." _

A sudden sweat broke out beneath his fur and swept his hair back, looking away. "We ain't talkin' 'bout me, K-Chan, we talkin' 'bout you! Quit with the running, do yer damn job and maybe you'll shave some off your debt."

Snorting, Keiko cast him a sour look. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say."

"And do everything in your requests too! You'll make more money. If they tell you to take off your shirt, do it."

"I hope my blouse and let my tits hang out," Keiko muttered.

"Ya gotta take it all off, dummy."

"No." Keiko's eyes focused on the phone, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes! Just because Val doesn't care, doesn't mean me, yer manager, don't! Ya gotta meet quota . . ."

"Which I do without taking off all my clothes. Viewers like the upskirt shots."

"Yesterday, an asshole offered 300 dollars for you to . . ."

"I'm not taking off my shirt!"

"And why the fuck not!?"

"Because . . .I got scars . . ." Keiko glared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Before they started doubling up the debt, they used to beat me with a kendo stick, which you still have, Pinkie!"

"Ohhhhh," Angel could see how that would turn some viewers off. "Alright, say no more . . ."

"What? You don't wanna see?"

"Keep it on and to yourself. Just . . .do everything else they want, okay?"

"Whatever," Keiko rolled her eyes.

Damn, the last time he rolled his eyes at Valentino, he spent an afternoon looking for one of them under the furniture.

"Watch it!" Angel smacked the back of her head. "Just cuz Valentino won't take you to school on respect doesn't mean I won't."

"Go fuck yourself, Pinkie" She slammed her fists into his side. 

"Hey! Stoppit!" 

"Eat my ass!"

"Little bitch!"

***

If there was one thing he was grateful for now since he regenerated into a demon spider, it was the extra pair of arms. It had been awkward coordinating them with his main pair, but after 70 years, he had it down to where he couldn't remember what life was like without them. Now he was using them to wrangle Keiko through the halls of the Porn Studio. 

He opened the door of her cam room and tossed her onto the bed as he had done before. "You do whatever the fuckin' viewers want and make my money, goddammit!"

With a hateful glare, Keiko flipped him off and snarled, "Prick!"

_ Aw, shit. I went and became Valentino.  _

He slammed the door shut and went to a break room for some downers to calm him. After doing some math, replacing Keiko's phone put him almost a thousand in the hole. Looks like he may have to do some street walking to make up the difference. Unless Keiko brings the shit during her stream.

Thinking of which, he accessed her stream on his phone to check on her. She was lying on her back, naked from the waist down with her tennis shoes crossed at the ankles as she read over her requests. 

"Let's see what we have. Can I finger myself for 30 dollars? Sure."

Once the money went through, she rolled onto her back, opening her legs, and her hand went to work between her thighs. The viewer number went up to the camera aimed between her thighs.

"And play with my tits for 25.00? No problem. Put the money through, User 28Spores."

Alright, at least she was making money. He watched for a few more minutes, and before he could close out of the stream, Keiko suddenly sat up, her eyes wide and bright at the monitor.

"Wait, you want . . .lemme back it up. Ohhhhh, 500 dollars for the pink spider demon to eat my ass? Yeah! Sure! Lemme text him right now."

Angel's stomach lurched. “Fuck . . .”

Sure enough, the text came through. 

**K-Chan** : Eat my ass!

**Angel Dust:** Fuck you!

**K-Chan** : You said to do whatever the viewers want to make your money!

**Val** : Eat her ass, or it's coming out of yours.

**Angel Dust** : Val, I hate doing hetero shit!

**Val** : So?

**K-Chan** : Hurry up. My ass is waiting!

**Val** : It ain't the first time ya did stuff with a lady for money, and it sure as fuck won't be the last. 

**Angel Dust** : I gotta go make my quota! I'm on my way to the P.P. District.

**Val** : Nice try. Don't lie. You're still in the building. 

**K-Chan** : Oh, look! Someone offered another 300 dollars to chip in! Come on up!

**Angel Dust** : I'm going to catch a disease! My jaw is going to rot off! 

**Val** : Stop being a little bitch and go eat that little bitch's ass!

**Vaggie** : Angel Dust, you need to come into the hotel. We need to talk with you.

**Angel Dust** : What!? Why?

**Val** : Why!? You come up to my office, and I'll explain why in detail!

**K-Chan** : Because it's what the viewers are paying for!

**Angel Dust** : I ain't talking to either of you!

**Vaggie** : We saw you grabbing a little girl off the street. Charlie is in hysterics.

**Angel Dust** : I'm about to go into hysterics! 

**Val** : Stop being a drama queen!

**K-Chan** : Don't worry. My pussy won't bite you when you eat my ass.

**Angel Dust** : Why is this sending a mass text! No! I didn't grab a kid off the street!

**K-Chan** : Help me! He's about to eat my ass!

**Angel Dust** : Goddammit! Get off the group, you little bitch!

**Vaggie** : Angel! What the hell is going on!?

**K-Chan** : My name is Keiko, and I am six years old. My mommy's name is . . .

**Angel Dust** : Oh, shut the fuck up, you lying little whore! You're 22 years old! 

**Val** : Angel Cakes, put the phone down. Go to Cam Room 12. And eat ass, or you'll eat fist.

**K-Chan** : I'm scared . . . Please, help me, nice lady!

**Val** : Keiko, cut the theatrics, or you'll be eating a fist too.

**Angel Dust** : Gotta go eat ass, Vaggie.

**Vaggie** : . . . . . . . .okay.

***

Angel Dust all but kicked open the door. Keiko was reclined on her side like the Whore of Babylon, becking him with a curl of a finger. 

"Come eat my ass, Angel Dust," Keiko said with the biggest shit-eating smile he had ever seen.

"Shut the fuck up, you little brat!" 

Keiko batted her eyes. "But Daddy, you said to do what the viewers wanted. And they want you to . . .Eat. My. Ass."

"Oh, Imma eat yer ass alright," Angel Dust said, flashing his sharp teeth in a slasher smile.

Her smile faltered at the edges as she realized she didn't really think this whole thing through. "W-waitaminute. You're not going to . . ."

***

"Goddammit! Watch your teeth!"

"Be still!"

"Ow! You bit me! And you did it on purpose!" 

"I did not. Not my fault ya gotta squirm like a worm on a hook."

"Feels like a fucking hook back there."

"Shut up and smile for the camera."

The monitor flashed with the viewership numbers and requests coming so fast it was a blur of text. Keiko rocked her hips against his face, thighs quivering in his hands as he held her open and accessible. 

"Damn, you're good at this," Keiko muttered as a pleasant orgasm washed over her. "Plenty of practice?"

"Or you're just easy to please," he sat up, reaching for a few tissues to wipe his mouth. "Satisfied?"

"Yeah, I guess so. The money went through. . .unless someone is putting money forward for something else." She scanned through the requests until her eyes took in one particular request. Closing the window, she said, "Nothing worth the money . . ."

"Whoa, what was that?"

"Nothing."

"Open that shit back up."

"Get outta my room. There's more asses out there for you to eat!"

He reached over her with a long arm, snagged the mouse from her hand, and clicked open the list. It took only a moment for him to find what he was looking for. 

"Spank K-Chan for 150 dollars? Sure! Why not?"

"Shit!" 

  
  



	18. The Audition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit Sexual Content

“Well, everything looks good. No signs of any problems,” the doctor after the exam, looking over a chart and flipping between the pages casually. He was balding with brown hair thinning into a barren patch at his crown. 

“That’s always good to hear from a doctor.” I had just dressed in comfortable jeans and a blue blouse once the uncomfortable exam was over.

The room was the generic exam room of any doctor’s office. The stirrups had been folded and tucked away into slots beneath the table’s cushioned stop. There were picture diagrams of female reproduction and pregnancy, and the doctor wore a white coat with his name stenciled over the breast pocket. 

“Your periods are irregular, but that’s due to strenuous activity on your part,” he continued making small notes. “Now about the tubal ligation procedure, you’ll need to speak with your employer about time off. You shouldn’t have any intercourse one week after the procedure . . .”

“Actually,” I said, cut in. “I already have an implant that’s been working well for me. I won’t be needing the procedure.”

“Oh?” The doctor looked at me, entirely taken by surprise. “Is Mr. Valentino aware of this?”

“Yes, but … that shouldn’t matter to him.” My hands tighten on my knees in quiet annoyance. “I don’t wish to be sterilized at this time of my life.”

The doctor nodded, but I could see a nervous energy pass through his eyes. “Of course, I’ll jot down you declined the procedure.”

Why did I have the feeling he was doing so to cover himself if Valentino made inquiries? Val has already said it was alright….

Actually, he only said the procedure would be held off. 

An uneasy feeling passed through me, but I ignored it. I was eager to get home with my son. 

***

“Mummy’s going to have a busy day today,” I said in a cheerful sing-song voice as I packed my gym bag. It still had the stain, which I used white nail polished to hide, which made me feel better, but still anxious as I knew it’s there. I lamented not buying a new bag while I was out shopping. I supposed I could order a new one online. 

I packed a black leotard with matching leggings, a couple of old pointe shoes, a water bottle, a sewing kit, a makeup pouch, hairpins and brush, and my phone charger. I even included a few energy bars and munched on one while I paced the room, grabbing whatever I thought I needed. I had no idea how much of a dance taskmaster Valentino would be, so I wanted to have everything I would need on hand. I’ve endured some pretty rough dance instructors and directors, but Valentino was different. Our relationship would be different. 

And we had sex. 

A flush spread across my face at the memory. A chill crawled down my spine at what I had done before that. 

_ Never sign a contract with a demon. _

Well, it was bloody well too late for that. I could barely remember picking up the pen and signing my name. Valentino had promised it to be lucrative, and beggars could not be choosers. So far, he had told the truth. I did make more money dancing in Pandora’s Box for one night than I ever could at Queenie’s Palace in a week. And the money for the nude shoot was jaw-dropping. 

For the first time in so long, I could think about money without sweating. It was there beneath me like a safety net, ensuring we were provided for. And there was sure to be more to come later. 

It wasn’t by choice I brought Connor to Pentagram City, the demon city-state, but to leave him behind didn’t bear contemplating. He was my son, the reason I signed the contract so I would never have to choose between food or diapers. Medicine or bills. Cab fair or internet. 

I took Connor by the daycare, which was conveniently a short walk from my apartment. I carried him on my hip while my gym bag and his baby bag bounced against my leg with each step. I considered it decent cardio, and coupled with my diet, it kept my weight down and figure trim. I thought once I had left the ballet world behind me, I wouldn’t be so concerned about my weight, but old habits die hard, and now I was in a career where my figure mattered more than ever. 

As much as I disliked leaving Connor at the hotel with the rude cat demon, the positive side of Connor being so fascinated by Husk and the pig, Fat Nuggets, he didn’t have any separation anxiety when I parted from him. At the daycare, I had to do it like a bandaid: sign in and hand him over to a worker with a quick kiss goodbye and leave quickly before the tears started. He would cry in such a forlorn manner that it broke my heart to hear it. It was going to be worse when he started calling me Mummy.

Dan picked me up outside the daycare. I liked him as he was prompt and on time, but likely that was part of his job. Discreet, punctual, and efficient. 

My second time to the Porn Studio and a few days in Pentagram City, it never ceases to amaze me how blunt and open the demons were about their services. Pornographers would name their studio under risqué names like Midnight Whispers or Passions, but no. Pentagram City’s porn studio was simply named Porn Studios, with a demoness billboard model posing alongside the building to dash away any doubt of what function it served. 

The air was cool enough to spread goose flesh across my arms upon crossing the threshold of the glass doors. It was strange how the lobby could resemble an office building’s reception hall. The demon receptionist grinned with sharp teeth through painted lips, and it only took a few strokes on the keyboard to see my appointment in the dance hall, third floor.

I was at least an hour early, enough time to change into my dance attire and be ready on the floor. I’ve been in a string of dance classes, Ballet Arts, and Swanson Company to know when an instructor says practice starts at a certain time, they mean for you to be on the dance floor ready to do the basics of choreography. 

The dance hall was a smaller version of a strip club, which served as a private dance room for a selected clientele. There was a dressing room in the back, and I changed, did my stretches, and pinned up my hair. It took several pins to collect the mass of curls into a chignon that would stay in place. 

After tying up my pointe shoes and slipping the pants stirrups under them, I went into the stage to practice the basics, but it was no longer empty. The dance floor had about two dozen seats, but his presence seemed to fill them all. 

“You’re early, baby,” Valentino, The Moth Pimp King and my manager, crooned. A wisp of red smoke seeped through teeth bared in a wide grin. 

I suddenly felt like a little girl put on the spot. “I had to change and do stretches . . .”

“Don’t pout like that, sweetheart. You never heard praise before?” He sucked on the cigarette; he always seemed to have on in his many hands. “Before we get started, I wanna see you in action.”

I played a hand on the pole, ready to launch into my routine. “Okay.”

“No, ballet, baby. I wanna see ya in your element.”

I swallowed, my hand tightening on the pole. “I’ll need music accompaniment.”

“I gotcha covered.” He held up his cellphone, which was linked to the speakers. “Name yer poison.”

“Claire de Lune, Debussy.” 

It took him a moment to find the music and the speakers hummed with the violin and piano. I believe this may be the first time this room had heard a sound from anything less potent than an electric guitar. 

I went through the adagio by heart. So many times, I had performed it for training, passed exams, and auditioned for roles. I had left the ballet world behind me, but it continues to shape my life, even in this vastly different world with few rules and etiquette.

***

Eyes followed the length of the leg and curve of the arm and spine. Every movement is well controlled and flowed with elegance. He would consider it delicate, but he was too experienced with pole dancing to know that such grace came with strength and durability. And a dedication to perfection.

_ Queenie thought she was cutting her losses in handing her off t’ me, but she handed me the Pot of Gold at the end of the fuckin’ rainbow. _

He switched off the music once her dance ended, satisfied with what he saw. “Let’s get started, sugar.”

This one was accustomed to being given direction and had an intuition of what he wanted from her. She understood how to put on a performance and give the audience what they wanted better than most dancers he worked with. Mostly silent save for ‘Yes, Val’ or to ask a question if she wasn’t sure of something. No complaints or ‘better ideas’ from this one.

Valentino only found three shortcomings from her when it came to pole dancing. Firstly, what she had in leg strength, she lacked in her arms. She could support herself easily on the pole with her legs, but there was a struggle when she used her arms for anything other than climbing or maintaining her balance. Second, she only knew the basic moves because she was taught by the mediocre dancers from Queen’s Palace, and lastly, she was intimidated by climbing higher on the pole. She didn’t complain, of course, but he could see the hesitation and how tightly she clung to the metal if she went higher than six feet.  __

Overall, he was quite pleased with her. Each time he told her to repeat part of the routine, she did so with apparent improvement. 

“No, sugar, you’re locking your wrists.” 

She was performing an eye-opener with both hands gripping the pole between her open legs. Valentino stood at almost eye level with her, though she perceived him upside down. 

“Sorry,” she replied. 

“Lemme show ya,” his lower hands cupped her shoulders. “Leggo of the pole, yer not gonna fall when Daddy has ya.”

He adjusted her grip on the pole with his upper hands. “Keep your wrist loose or ya gonna break it when ya go into the next part. Try again.”

She performed the choreography almost flawlessly after practicing for four hours straight. The front and back of her leotard were dark from sweat, and loose tendrils of red curls clung to her face. Yet, she would go for another four hours if he wanted it. 

No, not today. He had something else in mind for her. 

“We’re done with the pole for t’day, sugar. Go clean yourself up and rest. Come up to the sixth floor in an hour.”

“Yes, Val.”

***

Every muscle in my body felt loose and sore, especially my poor arms. As soon as I get to the dressing room, I lay down on the bench and relax each limb, which trembled as the tension left them. I would have to do stretches to ease the pain; thankfully, I had some pain relief cream in my gym bag.

Once I tended to my pangs, I tended to my other needs. I drained the water bottle, ate an energy bar, and took a shower in the side washroom. After pulling on my jeans and blouse, I was still tired but no longer in so much pain.

I spent the hour resting, wishing I could take a nap, as I owed Val a double shift tonight. I ate half of another energy bar for the extra caffeine and went up to the sixth floor. 

Apprehension filled me as I wondered what was waiting for me. My hands squeezed the strap of my gym bag until the knuckles went white, and my palms were sweaty. My phone began buzzing as the elevator approached the floor.

It was a text from Val.

**Val** : You’re going to do a lap dance for a close friend of mine.

**Bridget** : I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t bring my costume.

**Val** : No worries, sugar, I got an outfit waiting for you. Change into it and be ready to give your best performance.

**Bridget** : Yes, Daddy.

**Val** : And sweetheart, this is a VIP dance. You will be doing more than just dancing. 

I drew in a deep breath. This is what I signed up for when I wrote my name on the contract. 

**Bridget** : Will I be paid?

**Val** : Of course, sugar, my employees don’t work for free.

**Bridget** : Okay, Daddy.

**Val** : Good girl. 

***

Play to their strengths. She didn’t have the force of will many dancers had that drew eyes with near nude outfits and twerking of the ass and tits. No, Princess enticed the viewer with a fantastical air of desire. It wasn’t sex she offered, though that was undoubtedly on the table, but a connection to something pure with a tinge of carnal hunger.

When she came into the private room wearing the outfit he selected, Valentino saw he had chosen well. It suited her like feathers on a bird or scales on a fish. She didn’t rely upon her body to draw eyes, though it was a nice figure; it was the fluidity of her steps as if every muscle in her body was controlled and disciplined to appear delicate and agile. 

She had shown it to him during her adagio, and he was seeing it now as she danced for Vox. The skirt was split down the front revealing smooth thighs and legs. The top laced together with ribbon with the material clinging to her, outlining the pert breasts and hard nipples. 

The lap dance started off with a little ballet, not the quiet elegance he saw in her adagio, but something faster, lighter on her feet, and finesse. She had talent in dancing, no questions there, but how well could she aroused someone who received hundreds of lap dances from hundreds of dancers and had a sharp eye for showmanship. 

And Vox was pitching a tent by the time she flowed onto his lap. Without grinding or humping him, she invited him to touch her, hands tugged the top off, neon blue bladed fingers cut through ribbon exposing breasts. The cloth slipped down her arms like discarded feathers from a wing. Her shoulders were cupped, and she tilted back, jutting her breasts forward. 

Her lips parted in a soft ‘ah’ as a hot tongue teased over a pink nipple. Finger blades snipped bits of hair as they pulled her closer, and sharp teeth raked across the tender skin. She opened her legs, the knees spread further apart, not letting between his suit jacket and her bare skin, the apex of her thighs just above the bulge in his pants. 

Valentino expected this to be the end but was surprised when she did the unexpected. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, raised one of her legs with defying flexibility, and hooked it over Vox’s shoulder. Her other leg curled around his waist, and she leaned backward, hanging her body upside down against his with only her legs anchoring her to him. Red curls spilled across the floor between Vox’s shoes as her head nearly touched the floor. 

It gave Vox access to her body, and he took full advantage. Between her thighs, down her stomach, and across her breasts, his hands roamed and explored. Chest hitching, she looked back at Valentino, who watched the show from across the private room. He told her to ignore him while she performed for Vox, but for this he would forgive her. 

There was an ottoman against the center mini-stage where a pole was mostly ignored. With foresight, Valentino stretched a long leg and kicked the ottoman towards them. She was pulled upward by the arms, and her leg slid off Vox’s shoulder to hook around his waist with the other. Vox lifted her and set her bodily on the ottoman. It took moments for him to undo his pants and yank her thong out of the way. 

The dancer locked her legs around his waist, her hands splayed open on his back, as he fucked her hard. Valentino watched her face contort between pain from the rough handling to exquisite ecstasy. The poor girl wasn’t accustomed to hard fucking . . . yet. 

Soon, Vox collapsed atop her, spent with his screen making the humming noise as if scanning for frequencies. Val recognized it as a Vox that’s enjoying the afterglow of an intense climax. The dancer laid on the ottoman like an abandoned doll after being toyed with by a child. Her breasts rose and fell with each deep breath she took, and her face and chest were rosy.

“Congratulations, sugar,” Valentino said when she finally rose. “You passed. You’re gonna be entertainin’ the VIP of Pandora’s Box from now on.”

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. The Swan

“Your opinion, Vox?”

The TV Demon sucked deeply on his cigarette, filling his lungs and expelling a long stream of neon blue smoke through his teeth. ”You were right, Val. She’s fucking good.”

The dancer was told to leave the private room to clean herself up and then go up the seventh floor. Meanwhile, Vox enjoyed a cigarette after sex and a scotch. His tie was undone, hanging loose from his neck and his jacket was wrinkled and open. After taking a long pull from the scotch, he added, “But maybe you caught this too. She lacks confidence and it shows in her performance. At least at the start, until she gets into it.”

Val nodded, tucking his favorite flavor of cigarettes between lips in thought. He had caught it in her eyes. She kept seeking approval from Vox as she began. By the time she initiated physical contact, she had forgotten seeking his approval and did as she pleased. Likely, the experience will solve this problem. 

“Everyone is going to want a taste of her,” Vox continued, tapping ash into an ashtray. “You’re going to do whatever the hell you want with her, but my recommendation is keep the clean girl look. No tattoos, piercings, and no body modifications. She’s got this young girl vibe going without it stepping a toe into being illegal so she can easily slip into multiple roles for clients: the Good Girl, Little Sister, Girl Next Door, and the Popular Girl in School.”

Valentino thought as much, but it was nice getting a second opinion that agreed with him. “Anything else to add?”

“Yeah, don’t be afraid to shop her around to clients with mommy issues,” Vox refilled his scotch from the crystal decanter next to him.

Now, this surprised Valentino. “Whatcha mean by that, Voxy?”

“Maybe it's because she has a baby. She’s got this . . .” The usually chatty and witty TV Demon had to think for a moment. “Maternity about her. Like ‘I want to take care of you’, feel. I’d definitely present her to clients who want emotional attachments.”

“That’s the point, right? I want those saps fallin’ in love with her and pay my price to have her by the hour.”

“And she needs t’ watch those legs. Thought she was gonna break my back.”

“Always gotta find somethin’ t’ bitch about, doncha, Voxy?”

***

Holding the front of the top together, she was sitting where she had occupied the day the biker gang almost killed her and Angel. She seemed exhausted, eyelids heavy and shoulders slight slouch. Her back straightened when he came inside, his high heels barely making a sound on the carpet. 

A tremor of pleasure went through him at the sight of her almost standing at attention in his presence. Angel would have languished across the soda, expecting to be lavished in praise, but this one hoped for approval.

He petted her curls, and like a nervous dog, she relaxed under the affection. “You did good today, Princess.”

“Thank you, Val.”

He cupped her chin, his thumb and fingers lightly squeezing her cheeks. “Do you know what workin’ the VIP floor means?”

“Yes, Val.”

VIP was a special level in Pandora’s Box where for an extravagant fee, clients could ascend to receive access to the best drugs and booze and sex Pentagram City had to offer. For several hundred dollar tips, clients could do lines of cocaine off a beautiful hooker’s thighs or tits and do a body shot from their navel. The employees who worked the VIP floor were vetted and auditioned carefully. 

“Good girl. You’ll still be working the floor after your performances, give the saps downstairs a taste before you head up to the VIP level. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, Val. Downstairs, they can look, touch, but no penetration,” she recited from memory what the club’s manager explained for her. “Unless they pay the extra fee. If, in the middle of the hour, they want sex, they have to pay for another hour with the extra fee included.”

“That’s right, sugar, and upstairs in VIP?” It never hurt to be sure she understood the rules.

“I do whatever the client wants.”

_ *** _

I knew what I was signing up for, or I believed I did when I signed my name on the contract. He took my face between his hands and kissed my mouth with a brush of the lips, the same kiss a father would give a child. Then he took me into his bedroom and undressed me. 

I’ve been unclothed before by the men I met behind Queenie’s Palace for money, and before that time. This was different. Those times before was to get at my body, but this carried more meaning. I felt like a package behind unwrapped and inspected and assessed with a deep hunger. Sometimes he did something to get a reaction from me. A light tickle along the ribs, a pinch on the thigh, and running a fingertip across the bottom of my foot, and each time I jerked, twisted, or gave an involuntary smile, a deep chuckle rippled from his throat. 

“I like for my workers to have my mark to show they belong to me. Sometimes it's a gold tooth or a heart on their bodies.”

He had slipped off his expansive coat, long red and velvet, and it left Valentino bare save for fishnet stockings and garters, sporting the best parts of masculinity and femininity in his tall body. He tossed the coat over me, and it covered me like a shroud, but heavy and suffocating. It was almost a struggle to surface with velvet and fur tickling my face. 

He opened a drawer and inspected the contents. I would later learn it held an assortment of blinds, restraints, and gags decorated with hearts. He found what he was looking for and lifted it hooked over a long finger. It twirled on his finger with a flick of his wrist, the metal catching the light. 

“I think this will do for you, sugar.” 

It was a black collar with a heart-shaped ring at the front. He fitted it around my neck, even taking care to make sure it was a snug fit, not too tight or loose. It was thin leather, barely weighed anything, but it felt heavy on my neck as he gave the ring a tug. 

“Just a little addition to your outfit, baby.” He kissed my mouth again, but deeper, sexual. 

Then I was pushed down onto the bed, his open coat. My legs opened and positioned over his thighs. I was already wet and ready by the time he penetrated me, filling me up like a cup. 

“You belong t’ me, babygirl.” His voice was the purr of a lion in its den. He pushed hard inside of me, easily hitting my cervix with an inner bump of the flesh.

“Y-yes . . .yes, Daddy,” I sighed, heat spreading across my skin, turning my face and chest red. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and make Daddy a lotta money tonight?” 

“I-I will . . .I promise, Daddy.” It was so important he knew I would do my best for him. I wanted him to be happy with me.

He rewarded me with another kiss, long and deep. I tasted the tartness of scotch on his tongue and inhaled the scent of cigarettes from his breath. The solidness of his arms pressed me against his smooth body, and my legs locked around his waist, and I clung to him. There was a slight start around his middle, a quiver between my thighs, then he relaxed atop of me. 

“Watch your legs, sugar, you’re gonna break a client’s back with ‘em.”

*** 

She curled up and slept, reminding him of a rabbit curled up in a nest. He would let her sleep; the rest was her reward for all the work she put in today. And as she had a double shift tonight, letting her catch up on sleep would be profitable later. No sense in letting her burn out this early in her career. 

Settling down beside her, he decided a nap wasn’t uncalled for. He first checked his messages, thumbed a few replies, set the phone aside, and closed his eyes. A hand idly stroked the dancer’s side, petting her as someone would stroke a lovable pet.

Maybe he slept for several minutes or maybe an hour by the time his phone buzzed, waking him. On the screen was a text from Angel Dust.

**Angel** : I brought the money.

**Val** : Floor 7.

The dancer was still sleeping, swaddled in his coat, so he drew on a purple silk robe. Sweeping back his feathery antenna, he went into the main room and was surprised to see Angel Dust was already in the main room. Likely he had texted while in the elevator ride up.

As if it were an age-old ritual, Valentino silently held out a hand. Angel Cake silently reached into his chest puff and pulled out a wad of cash, which he laid ceremoniously in the waiting palm. Valentino reclined on the couch to count the bills in a flurry of paper. Then he counted it again, then gave Angel an arched look. “This is kinda light, Angel Cakes.”

“I’ve been busy . . .” Angel swallowed, visibly nervous. “Bridget’s take is in there too.”

“Right, right, and that’s why it’s not total shit,” Valentino’s eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna have t’ make up for this, Angie Baby. Ya need t’ put those other workers t’ work and make my money. Good thing Princess passed her audition for VIP or else I’d be really pissed off right now.”

There was a flicker in Angel’s eyes that Valentino caught. “She did?”

“Passed with flying colors. She starts tonight.” A wide grin spread across his face as he fetched a cigarette he stashed in the robe. “So her quota will be going up too.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna audition her, Val.” His upper hands fidgeted while his lower arms were crossed across his stomach.

“Ya gotta a reason why I shouldn’t have?” The Moth Pimp said in an icy tone. 

“She’s . . .Val, she’s soft,” Angel replied. “Look, she’s got talent as a dancer, not denyin’ that and she looks good on camera, but VIP will chew her up and spit her out. She can’t cut it.”

There was a tension in Angel’s body, as ready to flee or protect himself. A long silence filled the air between them. Angel slowly raised his eyes to see Valentino smoking his cigarette and giving him a thoughtful gaze. 

“Ya don’t see it, Angel Cakes.”

“See what?”

“You’ll never make a good manager when ya got too many blinders on.”

“I don’t get it what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, Val.”

“No, you don’t,” Valentino sighed, expelling a stream of crimson smoke. “Maybe it’s because you’re gay and you don’t look at girls like you do guys. Or maybe you’re so damn vain ya never think anyone is as good as you . . . or better,” Valentino sneered at him, pink teeth almost glowing. 

“Val, I’m sorry. Maybe I ain’t too bright . . .”

“Ya got that damn straight. So lemme spell it out for ya. Bridget not only has what it takes for the VIP floor, she has what it takes to become a bigger star than you.”

Angel looked up at Valentino to see the smirk and nasty laugh and was stunned when instead, there was a lack of humor on the Moth Pimp’s face. “You’re . . .you’re not fuckin’ serious, are you? Jesus . . .you must be losin’ it if ya think Miss Irish Spring can outdo me! Outdo this!” 

To prove his point, Angel leaped up, lifted up his chest puff, and shot Val a seductive wink before devolving into an offended glare. “I’ve been your top star for the last fifty years!”

“Exactly,” Valentino inclined his head, unmoved. “Fifty years. You’re gettin’ stale.”

“Bullshit!”

“When ya first got started, ya were the forbidden fruit for all the gays and closeted homos. Then thirty years ago, ya were an gay culture icon for being gay and proud,” Valentino sighed, remembering the old days before streaming services and online porn. “Since then, you’ve plateaued, but not gradually dipping lower and lower on the charts. The audience wants somethin’ new, somethin’ fresh . . .young, innocent, and corrupted.”

“And you think it's her!”

“Angel.” 

“Little Miss Mommy who doesn't believe in the five second rule! Who rather be bouncing her baby on her knee and singing little Scottish or Irish ballads!”

“Angel . . .”

“You think she can outfuck me?”

“Angel!” He was beginning to lose his patience. Sometimes when Angel was pissed off, it was cute (as long as it wasn’t directed at him), but not he was getting a little fed up with the vain diva jealousy act. “No, she can’t outfuck you. You’re the biggest whore of ‘em all, but she’s got somethin’ you’ve been lackin’ for years and some things ya never had.”

“Boss, I’m tellin’ ya, she’s soft . . .she’s Irish Creme without the whiskey.”

“Yeah, you say that because of your blinders. She does get a bit nervous, like a little ugly duckling too scared to jump in the lake. . .” Valentino grinned wickedly, recalling how Bridget displayed herself, using Vox like a hanging rack, and how she seized him by the waist with her legs. “But once she gets her feet wet, she turns into a goddamn beautiful swan.”

“And what am I?” Angel demanded.

“A dried up old buzzard.”

Before Angel could respond, his phone buzzed with a text message. He checked the screen and read. 

**Mishill** : He dead

**Angel** : Who?

**Mishill** : Client

It gave weight to how well Angel could hide his feelings around Valentino not to react. With numb calm, he thumbed another message.

**Angel** : Where?

**Mishill** : Paradiso Hotel. Downstreet. Midnight Song.

**Angel** : Stay there. Don’t call anyone or let anyone in the room.

To Valentino, he quickly said, “I gotta go.”

Suspiciously, Valentino asked, “Somethin’ up?”

“Nah, justa . . . justa somethin’ at the hotel . . .I’ll . . .talk t’ ya later.”

As he left the seventh floor, he sent a text to Arackniss. 

**Angel** : Big little bro, need some help with something.

There was a long pause, and Angel paced the elevator, waiting. “C’mon, Niss. . . you better answer me.”

**Arackniss** : With what?

**Angel** : To hide a body. Gonna need lime, hydrogen peroxide, and plenty of bleach.

There was another long pause. Angel stalked out of the elevator and made his way for the garage.

**Angel** : You there?

**Arackniss** : How much of that stuff are you gonna need?

**Angel** : Dunno. Been a while. The same as usual?

**Arackniss** : Maybe half that? 

**Angel** : Why half?

**Arackniss** : Nevermind. You’re my little brother. You may be into some . . .disgusting evil shit, but you’re blood, you’re family. I’ll help you hide the evidence.

**Angel** : Good. Meet me at the Paradiso Hotel, down the street from Midnight Song.


	20. The Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Triggering Subjects! Sexual Assault!

It spoke volumes about the don’t ask and don’t tell nature of Pentagram City when two Mafioso spider demons could walk into the Paradiso Hotel with arms laden with bleach, tarp, and saws with no one batting an eye in the lobby. Angel Dust led the way, having received the room number from Mishell during the ride over. Arackniss was oddly quiet on the drive over and wasn't carrying on with his bitching and moaning about being pulled into Angel’s problem. 

Angel wondered if he finally pulled the stick out of his ass. Usually, he would be ribbing him, but right now, he had bigger problems than Arackniss odd mood. 

“She’s in room 304.”

“She is?” Arackniss blinked. “She’s alive?”

“Not for long,” Angel growled under his breath. “Not when I get my hands on her.”

All eight of Arackniss’s eyes blinked. “Anthony, it’s . . .it’s not too late. We don’t have to do this!”

“Naw, brother, we gotta,” Angel muttered, leading them into an elevator. “Damn her for causing trouble. Knew she was trouble the second I laid eyes onna her.”

“Then why ya grabbed her?” Arackniss asked, recalling what he and Pops had seen earlier that day, of Angel Dust snatching a kid off the street.

“Wasn’t my choice to grab her,” Angel retorted. “Valentino said she’d bring in good money.”

“Oh God . . .he’s in on this too!?”

“Hey, it was his fuckin’ idea.”

The elevator gave a small ding when they reached their floor, and they left it together. Arackniss was sweating, having doubts about whether he could go through with this or not. Anthony was a whore and drug addict, and now part of some sick operation, but he was his brother, dammit! If it got out that Angel was a pedophile . . .then he was permanently dead. 

What was left of his conscience told him he should blow Anthony’s brains out now. Still, the memory of them as human children was too strong . . .they had been close back then, and back then, he had done his best to protect Anthony from their strict brutal father until he began asking for the beatings by trying on lipstick and dresses. Now Arackniss wondered what could have been if he had stuck by Anthony instead of allowing Henroin to drive him away. Would he have intervened before Anthony’s sexual tastes turned dark?

He would never know.

Instead, he followed his brother in bitter silence. No matter what, Anthony was going to do the dirty deed himself. He’ll help him clean up the mess, but he was going to wait outside while Anthony did the deed himself.

Angel Dust arrived at the door and knocked on it. “Mishill, open this fuckin’ door, now!”

Oh, god, no! Arackniss didn’t want to know her name! He had to stop this. “Anthony . . .”

The door opened, and instead of a young Asian girl, a tall fallen angel glared at them. Long white hair hung down her back, and she wore transparent dark lingerie, still wearing garter belts and stockings. 

“Where is he?” Angel Dust demanded.

“Ze bedroom.” The fallen angel said in a crisp French accent. 

Angel Dust brushed past her. “What the fuck did you do t’ him?”

“I done nothing. ‘Cept for ze fucking.” 

“What? Ya fuck ‘im t’ death?” Angel snapped and headed for the bedroom.

All eyes blinking at different moments, Arackniss followed him into the bedroom while staring openly at the fallen angel. She regarded him with a disdained sniff and crossed her arms.

“Jesus! What the fuck?”

On the bed, naked as the day he was born, was a human man in his fifties. His comb over was stuck up in wispy spikes revealing his bald patch with a bushy mustache. He had let himself go and had a flabby paunch. 

Standing over him, Angel eyed the dead man. “He hasn’t turned into a demon, so his soul musta gone to Heaven.”

“He went to Heaven while havin’ sex with a hooker?” Arackniss kept his eyes focused on the man’s upper body.

“Heaven’s finicky,” Angel shrugged. “Anyhoo, we gotta clean this up before Val finds out she killed him.”

_ “Je n'ai pas!”  _ The fallen angel snapped at the doorway. “ _ Nous étions au milieu de la passion et il a arrêté de bouger!” _

“English, Frenchie! English!” Angel Dust growled. “How did you kill him?”

“I. Did. Not. Kill. Him.” Mishil said stiffly. “In ze sex, he stopped moving. I tried waking him. He will not wake up.”

“So ya did fuck ‘im t’ death after all,” Angel replied, actually impressed. “Hope he had a fun time on the way out. A’right, Arackniss, lay out the tarp and we’ll lower him on it.”

“Anthony, I got to know . . .what happened t’ the girl ya grabbed this mornin’?” 

“What girl?”

“The one you snagged while drivin’ by. Little Asian girl.”

“Oh, her? I locked her up in a room.”

“Oh, God, Anthony!”

“What? That girl’s gotta earn.”

“But a little girl! What Imma gonna tell Pops? I told him it was a misunderstandin’ and ya wouldn’t ever diddle kids!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Angel’s eyes went wide, almost rolling back into his head from the sheer shock of the accusation. “What the fuck are ya talkin’ ‘bout?”

“We saw you snatchin’ a kid off the street!”

“For starters, busta, that wasn’t no kid! That was a 22 year old bitch who was tryin’ to skip out on the job. I grabbed her to haul her scrawny ass back t’ the Porn Studio!” 

“Whoa . . .wait, she was . . .22? Are you serious!?”

“Yeah, ya palooka! She passes herself off as younger for the clients.”

It was possible to faint from relief; Arackniss was about to prove it. “Ah, shit, I thought we were . . .we were here for her.”

“What!? You thought I wanted yer help t’ chop of a little kid . . .” Angel touched his chest puff, touched. “Ya woulda done that for me?”

“Yeah, yer my brother, Anthony . . .I’d chop up anyone for ya.”

“Awww, Niss . . .I’d do the same for ya.” 

***

When I left the Porn Studio to pick up Connor from the unhappy daycare workers who had to stay late because of my tardiness, I realized I still wore the black collar around my neck. I had woken in Valentino’s bed and completely forgotten it was there as I quickly dressed to leave. 

Oddly enough, he had pulled the heart ring and kissed me goodbye before I left, and I still forgot it was there. It was a fluid weight around my neck—one moment light enough to be forgotten and another moment heavy on the soul. 

A small voice at the back of my mind said it was like wearing a dog collar as if I were a slave. I ignored the voice, pushing it down until it was no more. I told myself I had chosen this and I was being paid good money to do this. If it came with wearing a collar, then I would wear the collar. 

It also gave me an odd sense of security. Like I was being tagged with a mark of protection. I belong to Valentino. If you wanted to hurt me, then you had to go through him first. It was irrational, but not much, I could do about it now.

Little did I know, there was nothing I could have done then and later. And Valentino’s protection only extended as far as he wished. 

***

My hand slid along the pole as I moved in a circle around it. Private dances were slower, costing less energy, and seemed more intimate. Though I would have preferred another’s company. 

The human man who paid for an hour of my time was one of those rich, privileged arseholes that thought flashing money around made him special. However, places like this were made for people like him. It was part of the fantasy, a world where with enough money, he could have any woman he wanted, and he wanted me dancing for him.

I shouldn’t complain too much. He did tip me a few hundred dollars when I entered the room, just for looking pretty. The tips I made meant more money to pay off my quota, and the more I got to keep. Maybe he could tip me a few more hundred by the time the hour was up. 

I stripped for him, naked save for the thong and non-pointe slippers that laced halfway up my leg. I looked like an erotic princess with my long curly red hair or, as a customer at Queenie’s Palace once said, an enchanted fae. I rotated my hips for him, turning around to give him a good view of my ass. 

I was accustomed to being touched during a private dance. Most strip clubs prevented touching. Queenie’s did by law, but all clients wanted more for their money, and they tended to tip better when they got a grope. And Pandora’s Box, being a strip club in Hell, had loose rules, save for one. If the client wanted more than looking and touching, they had to pay a Special Fee. It was only on the exclusive VIP floor they could do anything they wanted.

However, this man, who only paid the standard fee for a private dance, tried to finger me. Rules were strict. No penetration whatsoever unless they paid the Special Fee. I discouraged him by turning around and placing my hands on his shoulders, drawing close with a smile as if to kiss him and then drawing back at the last second. 

Believing the message had been received, I continued with the slow rock of my hips, accepting his hands on my thighs, but then yet again, fingers resumed seeking their goal between my thighs. Yet, this time, edging beneath the fabric of the thong.

“Whoa, stop, stop,” I said, stopping the dance and catching his wrist before he could find the goal. “You can’t do that.”

“Baby, I paid for an hour of your time,” he leered.

“You only paid the standard fee,” I explained politely. “If you want to do more than watch me dance or talk, then you have to pay the special fee.”

“I just tipped you several hundred dollars.” There was a dangerous flash in his eyes that should have served as a warning.

“And I appreciate it, but once this hour is over, you can pay for another hour at the special dance price.”

“Why?”

Taken aback by the bluntness of the question, I stood my ground. “It’s the rules.”

“Honey, look, I’ll give you a three hundred for a quickie. Okay?”

“My boss won’t like that.” 

He grabbed my wrist hard enough to hurt me. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Valentino would know. Somehow, he would know or find out if I broke the rules and the thought of that made me break out into a cold sweat. “We can finish out the hour and then if you want a special dance, you’ll have to pay for another hour at the higher fee.”

That was when he slapped me. It was a hot splash of pain across my face, and I was so stunned I didn’t see the next blow coming, which sent me to the floor. He was quick, probably planning this in his head when I began refusing him. My thong yanked down my legs, and he was opening his pants.

I drew my leg back to my chest and kicked him with all my might. I missed his crotch but got him good in the knee. It caught him off guard, and he fell against the seat. Turning onto all fours, I began crawling away towards the door. If I could open it, I could scream for help, and security would come. 

A strong hand grabbed my ankle and yanked me back, causing carpet burns on my front. With a hand ensnared in my hair, he yanked my head back and dealt a vicious blow across my face. I tasted blood in my mouth, and the only thing I could think of was to lay still, let him do what he wanted so he wouldn’t hurt me anymore. 

The door slammed open, and several men wearing Pandora’s Box security shirts burst in before anything could go further. Hands lifted the man off me and secured his hands behind his back with a zip tie. 

A cyclopic demon lifted me off the floor and took me from the room. Stares from workers and customers starred as I was taken to the backrooms and into a small room. I didn’t realize I was crying until a tissue was pushed into my hand, and I instinctively used it to wipe my eyes.

Then it finally caught up to me. I had almost been raped. More tears flowed down my face as the gravity of what the man had attempted to do to me hit me like another blow. Then I heard Valentino was on his way.

“No! Nothing happened! You don’t have to tell him.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but anytime somethin’ like this happens, we gotta tell the boss and let him decide what happens to the creep.”

***

There are several things that can put Valentino in a bad mood. A disrespectful hoe hoes not making their quota and losing money. However, what pissed him off the most, was customers trying to get something for nothing. 

It was always the visiting living humans that would dare try it in his establishments. Demons knew better than to try that shit with him. 

First, he went to security to watch the CCTV footage of what happened in the private room. The human had tried to finger Princess, which she put a stop to, which angered the client who tried to take what he wanted anyway . . .without paying for it! 

Then Valentino went to survey the damage to his worker. Princess was sitting on the couch, trembling, swallowed up by a jacket someone had put around her. When she saw him, she burst into tears, shaking and trying to speak through quivering lips. 

“I wouldn’t . . .he wanted to, but I said no . . .told him he had to pay . . .” 

“Shhhh, darling, lemme see you.” 

He took her face between his hands and studied the injuries. With a long history of viewing the aftermath of beatings, having given quite a number of them himself, he viewed the lacerations with the eye of a skilled paramedic. Nothing seemed to be broken or fractured. No concussion as her eyes focused on his face without the dilated pupils or constant blinking. Her lower lip was swollen, but fortunately, that was the worst of it. It could be iced until the swelling went down, and the rest could be covered with makeup. There wouldn’t be any loss of profit tonight . . .she still owed a double shift after all.

She was silently weeping, and he took this as a chance to bond her to him. Taking her onto his lap, he coddled her, stroking the mane of red curls and holding the quivering body until she calmed down. He spoke to her like a trainer soothing a frightened mare. 

“I’m sorry. I told him no, that he’d have to pay. Then he hit me…”

“Shhh, I know, sweetheart, I know.” 

When she stopped shaking, he pressed his lips against her brow, taking sweet joy in her deference of seeing the collar on her neck. And set her on her feet. “Come with me, sugar, we’re gonna take care of a problem.”

With a hand on her shoulder, he led her through the back of the club. The head of security of Pandora’s Box appeared at his side. “They’re workin’ him over out back.”

“Good,” Valentino’s lip curled. “Ran a background check?”

“Yeah, came in from San Francisco. Some hotshot of a startup tech firm. No special relationships as far as we can tell.”

By this time, they could hear the sounds of grunts and the impact of fists connecting with flesh. She shivered as he drew her outside through an exit that opened into an alley behind the club. The ex-customer was held up against the wall by two security guards while a third acquainted his fist with the man’s middle. He was bleeding from the mouth, and his left eye was swelling up. 

At Valentino’s entrance, the puncher stopped and stepped back. The man was thrown onto the ground before Valentino’s feet but stood close to keep the man from fleeing.

Expelling a long stream of red smoke, Valentino glared down at the quivering human man. “Were the rules not explained t’ you before you went into the private room with my worker?”

“Look, in San Francisco we can . . .” The man started, likely thinking he could talk his way of this—the entitled prick asshole.

And this time, the Moth Pimp’s voice was venomous and deeper. “I don’t give a goddamn fuck what they fuckin’ do in San fucking Francisco. This is Pentagram City, my fuckin’ club. In this club, standard fees are for dances only. Ya wanna fuck my workers, ya pay t’ do so.”

“Y-yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

“And when my sweet heart told you the rules, ya beat ‘er and tried t’ rape ‘er. Tried to get it for free. Look at her face! Look whatcha did to my pretty girl.”

He cupped her chin, showing off her bruised face, swollen lip, and the eyeliner streaking down her cheeks. 

“Look, I’ll pay for damages . . .”

“Did you get his wallet?” 

“Yessir, we did. Cash, traveler’s checks, the usual.” Nathan handed over a handful of bills.

Valentino sifted through them in a quick count, drew out a few bills, which he gave to the dancer. “Sweetheart, do you think he had enough?”

“Sir?” She had been watching the exchange with red eyes but blinked at his question.

“Do you think he’s learned his lesson or should the boys keep at him until he does?” 

“Uh, yes . . .he’s had enough.” With the bills clutched tightly in one hand, she rubbed her other arm, uncomfortable and not wanting to be there any longer. 

“Aw, my sweet girl doesn’t have a mean bone in her body . . .and ya hit her like a cheap two dollar whore.”

He took her back inside but nodded at Nathan. Despite what she said, Valentino didn’t believe the man had learned his lesson. In fact, Valentino doubted the asshole was going to make it back to his precious San Francisco.

***

“Ya ready to go back t’ work, sugar?”

She looked up, her lips pale and face covered in blooming bruises. “Y-yes . . .”

“Ice your face for a thirty minute break and go to Jenny in makeup. She’ll cover those bruises real good.” Taking her chin in hand, he said firmly, “And you take those thirty minutes to deal with what happened. Cry if ya need to, have a hard drink, smoke a joint, or whatever ya need t’ go back out there smilin’ for the customers.”

“Yes. . . yes, Daddy.” 

“Good girl.” 


	21. The Second Confrontation

“Alright, ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Just like we did Georgie.”

“I remember.”

Angel and Arackniss lowered the body onto the spread tarp and covered the floor with newspapers, magazines, and hotel towers. Then they put on aprons and gloves for the grisly work. Angel held the man’s arm, and Arackniss placed the teeth of a hacksaw against the pallid skin and bore down. 

The man’s eyes shot open, and he screamed as blood flowed from his arm. 

***

“How the fuck was we supposed t’ know the fucker was still alive?”

Husk chortled and poured a drink with a shaking talon. “Dunno. Maybe check his pulse first before sawing off his arm?”

Angel Dust blinked and then made a foul face. “Dammit! We’ve been dead too long t’ remember that shit.”

“So what happened next?” Husk snickered. “And why did the asshole pass out?”

“Some sorta heart condition. He forgot t’ take his pills and fucking Mishill put his heart in overdrive so he passed out while she was riding his cock.” Angel tossed back another shot and continued his story. “Scared the fuck outta us. Arackniss even went for his gun like the asshole was a zombie and Mishil was all ‘mon dieu!’ The fucker takes a look around, sees the tarp, the tools, and us wearing aprons and loses his shit!”

A fussy whine rose from behind Husk, who made an annoyed grunt and produced a tin of baby cereal puffs beneath the bar. Turning to the pigpen, Husk popped off the lid and began scooping and scattering the puffs as if throwing feed to chickens. “There ya go, ya little bastard. Eat up.”

The whining stifled as little Connor began foraging for puffs while Fat Nuggets nosed through the blanket for anyone hidden in the folds. Husk turned back to Angel for the rest of the story. “So what did ya do?”

“Whatcha think we did? Paid the bastard off to keep quiet and refunded his money for fucking Mishil which pissed her off, but that bitch ain’t the one in the hole.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” Paying off the john and losing out on Mishil’s earnings put him further in the hole than he cared to admit. 

As bad as it was to owe money and the threat of losing the wager hovering over his head, it was a nice distraction from his earlier conversation with Valentino about Bridget’s potential. There was no way Valentino would believe his own words. It had to be another mind game or more of Val’s cruelties, but it was how the pimp spoke that made him think it was more to it than that. 

The human had a talent for dance and ballet, so why the fuck was she shaking her ass for cash? Why can’t she go back to whatever ballet school vomited her up? 

And speaking of the devil, Lady Redhead of the land of Irish Spring graced the hotel with her appearance . . .and a bruised face. One side of her face was red with the lip swollen. Even the area around her eye was puffy. Valentino must have gone easy on her. 

She tried to hide it with her red hair over the eye, but Angel was accustomed to seeing bruised faces since childhood and knew the signs well. He turned to face her, leaning against the bar on his upper elbows while his lower ones crossed over his stomach. “Whatcha do?”

“Nothing.” Bridget said curtly, reading into her purse. 

“C’mon, don’t be that way? Lemme guess, ya gave him the rough side of your Irish tongue, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bridget replied, counting out some bills and laying down on the bar for Husk. “Thank you for watching him.”

“Eh, money’s good,” Husk muttered.

“Has he eaten?”

“He’s eating right now.”

Bridget stood on tiptoe to see into the pigpen. “What!? You’re making him eat off the floor!? With the pig!?”

“Pig’s clean.”

Angel didn’t like being ignored. “Hey! I wanna know whatcha did to piss Val off so I don’t catch shit for it later.”

Bridget looked at him, startled. “Val didn’t do this to me. One of the patrons hit me because I wouldn’t let him have his way with me for free.”

Angel looked away. Yeah, he’s been there and done that more than a fair share in his long career as a sex worker. “Did . . .Did Val take you out the back to watch them beat the guy up and asked if you thought he had enough?”

“Oh . . .well, yes. It wasn’t pleasant, but the man needed a good thrashing, but I told Val it was enough.”

“Yeah, uh-huh, that guy is probably rottin’ in the bottom of the River Stiyx.” Angel muttered. 

As Bridget went around the counter to collect her son, Angel noticed Husk giving him a direct questioning look.  _ Did you talk to her yet? _

Might as well have it out since he brought up the topic already. “Red. . .before ya go . . .I . . .I gotta say somethin’.”

“What?” Bridget said, standing with Connor, who managed to grab a puff before being retrieved. 

“Val . . .he’s . . .he’s kinda . . .I mean,” the words were failing him as he struggled to find the right thing to say. “He can be . . .rough.”

“Well, he does have an intimidating presence.” Bridget was wiping away a crumb from Connor’s mouth. 

“I mean . . .he . . .sometimes he throws a punch.” 

Bridget gave him an arched look. “What are you trying to say exactly?”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

“No, I want to hear you say it.”

Husk had turned his back, wiping down the bar, but both ears were cocked towards their conversation. Angel rubbed the space between his eyes, cursing at himself and the situation. “Val . . .Val has a temper.”

“I’m Irish, laddie,” Bridget said, her brogue and accent becoming stronger. “I’m not afraid of a temperamental man. My father was one.”

“Yeah and have your pops ever blacken your eye or broke a rib?” 

Jade green eyes narrowing, she settled Connor on her him. “No, and Valentino has been very kind to me.”

Hearing the words Valentino and kind in the same sentence shook him to the core. “Are ya serious!? He’s a snake!”

“Oh? He’s the snake? I think you’re the bloody snake,” Bridget retorted, carrying Connor around the bar. “From the moment I stepped off the plane, you have been rude, insulting, and horrible to me! From wanting me to ship my baby off to calling me far for the pants I wore. You wouldn’t even let me have enough money to buy a crib for my boy while Valentino bought one for me!”

“A crib!? He bought you with a goddamn crib? Jesus, lady, you’re cheap.”

“There you go again! Being horrible!”

“I am tryin’ t’ warn you, ya crazy bitch.”

“More like sabotaging me by scaring me away from Valentino!” Bridget snapped. 

“What!?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yeah! I do!”

Bridget jabbed a finger at him, almost poking him in the chest puff. “You used to be the most requested dancer at the VIP of Pandora’s Box.”

Angel’s eyes went wide, recalling Valentino’s dire warning of him becoming stale. “Used to!?”

“I saw your posters and even some of your films. You used to be the top star of Porn Studios . . .”

“Used to!?” Angel repeated, his teeth flashing. “Baby! I am! I am the past, present, and fuckin’ future of Porn Studios!”

“Aye, I’ll grant ye the past,” Bridget said, her accent getting thicker and thicker as she spoke. “But the present and future will be mine.”

“Oh, fuckin’ bitch! You couldn’t beat me if Valentino broke every bone in your face and rearranged it into somethin’ passable.”

“Fuck ye and ye hateful, hateful heart!”

“Get the fuck outta here before I slap the ugly right outta ya!”

At this point, Connor was beginning to cry, the angry voices scaring him. Bridget made soothing, shushing noises as she took her departure. The doors slammed behind her, cutting off Connor’s wails and her comforting him. 

Hush turned around and fixed Angel with a look. “That coulda gone better.”

“What the fuck do ya want from me?” Angel snapped. “Ya heard the bitch! She’s all up Val’s ass and she’s welcome to it, but I’ll be goddamn before I let that whore show me up!”

“Jesus, Angel, don’t ya realize what yer doin’?” Husk growled. “This is exactly what Val wants . . .”

“I don’t give a shit! Val can kiss my fuckin’ kiss if he thinks that red headed bitch is gonna take my spot!”

Any and every worry he had about Bridget taking his place as Val’s punching bag was eroded by the fury of her taking his place as a starlet of Porn Studio. Early, when he first started, there had been rivalry with the threaten being his own inexperience. However, this time, it was different. This time, it wasn’t fear of not being enough, but the enrage fury of wanting to outdo the fucking Irish Spring bitch. 


	22. The First Shots Fired

Angel Dust learned firsthand what Valentino was talking about when he attended the VIP floor with Bridget Walsh. A week later, after his encounter with her in the lobby, he went to VIP to make up the difference in his lacking quotas. It would take torture to force him to admit being a manager was more challenging than he first imagined it, but then Valentino had more experience. 

So far, Keiko has been bringing in a steady stream of money, the Dom/Sub duo has been making some decent bank, and even things on Mishil’s end have been almost peaceful. Why the fuck did he have this weird feeling it was some sort of the calm before the storm? Like the fuckers were just resting up before making his afterlife a whirlwind of torment?

He twirled on the pole, head back and back arched with upper arms spread out. It was raining bills, and whistles split the air. Through the falling money, he sat Valentino in his private booth, red coat and pink heart frames almost glowing in the dim lighting. Next to him was a pale figure with brilliant red curls looking up at the Moth Pimp with sickening adoration. 

_ Dumb bitch. Let’s see how happy she is when Valentino backhands her a couple of times? Or kicks her across the room because a client gripes about a poor attitude.  _

So why the hell did he want to be in her place now? Why was it irritating that Valentino was more interested in whatever he was discussing with Vox instead of his performance? And why the fucking hell did Valentino have one of his arms around her waist? 

As much as he hated the attention she was getting, he couldn’t deny Irish Spring had talent and knew how to draw in the audience. However, he still didn’t believe she had what it took to be VIP or a Porn Studio Starlet. At least until he saw her in action on the VIP floor.

The air was electrifying, with a heady aroma of cologne, perfume, and sex filling his nose as he ascended the stairs. For a handsome fee, VIP members or guests Valentino personally invited could have their share of drugs, booze, and sex with beautiful people. 

Angel helped himself to some pills and a shot of vodka to garner up his endurance. He had finished a private dance that ended with him on the bent over the dance floor doing sudoku in his head while the client plowed him from behind. Usually, he avoided the VIP floor unless he was behind on quota or Valentino forced him to go, but tonight he felt drawn upstairs.

There was a center bar in the room amid a seat of tables and booths. Near nude servers of all sexes and all attractively served drinks and offered drugs as if they were finger foods at a party. Well, it was a party every night at the VIP club. 

While a patron was sidling close, ticking his arm with inquisitive fingers, Angel’s eyes were drawn to the other side. Bridget Walsh, naked, safe for the thin white thong that seemingly blended into her white skin, was surrounded by admirers. Perched on a stool, she was exchanging a kiss with her legs wide apart for a second patron to snort coke off her inner thigh. After inhaling the drug, he pressed his face into the apex of her thighs, and Bridget moaned into the other patron’s mouth. After a few moments of rocking her hips, Angel watched her orgasm, a girlish smile on her lips as she stroked the head of the guy going down on her.

Then . . .Angel realized what Valentino was talking about. It wasn’t an act. Bridget actually enjoyed the sex and the attention. And how long has she been going tonight? He last saw her hovering at Valentino’s side three hours ago! 

And she’s sitting here like some fertility goddess being adored by worshipers!

Her head was tilted as a client pressed his lips to her ear, either to lick it or whisper into it, then her eye caught his. And the bitch smirked at him. The fucking bitch . . .smirked . . .at him.

A more lucid part of his brain told him it was a trick of the light. Or he was mistaking a coy smile for a client as a smirk for him. 

However, the more dominant part of his persona said,  _ Fuck this bitch. _

Ignoring the client trying to get his attention, he sidled over close to her side of the bar with a shot in hand. Bridget speaking to an enthralled client with her hand lightly touching his jaw. A delicate smile played on her lips like some damn love goddess.

“Lookin’ good, sweetheart,” Angel said, raising a glass to Bridget, who looked at him, suspicion darkening her eyes. “For someone who hadda baby! What was his name? Connor? Cute little tyke! I think he has your eyes.”

Bridget’s eyes went hot, and her clients, the ones still sober enough to understand Angel’s words, balked. One smiled and murmured, “I like kids.”

Then he realized the context of the situation and stammered a quick apology, and hurried away. Glaring openly at him, Bridget scooted off the stool and landed lightly on her feet, and leaned against the bar, gracing it with her presence. “Can’t help being a bloody arsehole, can you?”

“Aw, sweetie, I’m just teasin’ ya. Can’t let ya have too much fun,” Angel threw back the shot, the alcohol giving him a pleasant burn as it went down. 

“Piss off,” Bridget muttered. “I’ll stay on my side and you stay on your side.”

“Oh, but what if I want your side.” Angel felt his blood surging at the smell of a challenge. 

“Well, the problem with that,” Bridget said with a snide grin as she ordered a shot for herself. “It isn’t what we want, but who the clients want. Even if I conceded my side to you, well, they’ll follow me like I’m the Pied Piper.” 

She threw back her shot, swallowed, and set the glass down with a solid smack. 

Angel ordered another shot. “Honey, they ain’t gonna go anywhere since I’m here.”

He threw it back and set his glass down with enough force the bartender’s brows rose in concern for his bar and glass. 

“Hmm, you’re here,” Bridget ordered another shot too, and she threw this one back too. “But I don’t see them gathering around you.”

She was right. He was standing alone at the bar, the patrons elsewhere, which wasn’t a good sign for someone who’s been a stable presence on the VIP floor for decades. Even now, Bridget simply leaned against the bar; they eyed her from across the room, admiring and assessing her. Before too long, she would resume where she left off, surrounded by clients who would put money into Valentino’s pockets to have her for themself later.

Glaring, he ordered another shot. After setting the glass down, he declared, “The night’s still young, sweetheart.”

She ordered another shot. “Ah, but you look so tired.”

Ordering a shot, “Better get your eyes checked and pay attention. Imma show ya how it's done.”

Another shot glass thumped the bar. “I already know how it's done. Haven’t you been paying attention or can you not see through your own ego.”

“A porcelain doll can sit and look pretty, bitch,” Angel muttered, tossing back a shot. 

“Ah, so you’re saying I’m prettier than you?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

How did many shot glasses end up on the table? They should be building a tower with them. Angel tried to focus on the red-headed woman he wanted and couldn’t remember why for a moment. She was glaring at him over the rim of a shot glass before setting it down. It was his turn. 

Somewhere, in the far back of his mind, he remembered something from his childhood. Or someone.

They called him Uncle Don, but he was no blood relative of theirs. Everyone called him that, even Henroin though the man was only a few years older than him. He wasn’t part of the Family, but he did jobs for them from time to time. He was a kooky sort and always with a story for every occasion. 

Uncle Don had told him and his brother something . . .something important pertaining to now, but what was it?

He could see the old kook’s face now, wrinkled from years of sunburn and beaming at ten year Arackniss and eight year old Anthony.  _ Remember, before you have sex with a lady, you check her bits. If she got puss and bumps and all sorts of nasties down there, you better run away from her, or your face will end up lookin’ like that. _

While that was vital information to have back then when STDs ran rampant among the human populace, that didn’t really help him now.

“Careful, Angel?” A melodious voice sang. “Your hand is wobbling.”

He shot a glare at her. “Just worry about yourself, bitch.”

“You called me bitch before,” Bridget mocked. “You’re not clever enough to think of something original?”

“How about Irish Spring?”

“Like the soap?” 

“Yeah?” He tossed back another shot.

Shrugging, she ordered another shot. “There are worse things to be called other than a bar of soap.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” Angel snorted. “Fag, Faggot, bitchqueen, fairy, and prissyboy . . .and all from dear old dad.”

“You think I haven’t been called names before?” Bridget snorted back. “I’ve attended Catholic school with the cattiest twats you could imagine. And the dance directors and dance masters weren’t much better. Eat a cookie and you’re a fatso. Wobble just a touch on a pirouette and you’re a clumsy clod. Show up one iota late for rehearsal, you’re lazy.”

She downed the shot and set it down. Angel ordered one. “Ya think Valentino is gonna treat ya any better?”

“He is lamb compared to them,” Bridget sighed. “One director threatened to poison the least skilled ballerinas to make room in the school for more talented dancers.”

Angel downed the shot. “One time Val made me practice for hours. No breaks.” 

Bridget shrugged and ordered one. And what do you think we did in ballet school all day? We danced until our feet bled and our toenails fell off.”

“Valentino made me dance for hours with a broken arm.”

“Try performing a solo on a broken toe.” 

Was it his turn to drink? He couldn’t remember. Everything was becoming imbalanced. Uncle Don’s voice came back to him again.  _ If ya see yellow snow, I promise you it’s not lemon flavored. _

Why was he thinking of that old kook now? 

“You can’t scare me.”

He blinked, just then noticing he was holding a shot glass, and it was empty. “What?”

“You can’t scare me away from Valentino. He likes me.” She was brushing hair from her face, and something caught the light at her throat. It was the collar with a heart shape loop at the front. 

“He owns you.”

“He loves me.”

“He loves money.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her cheeks were pink and pretty as her nipples. 

“Yeah, everyone loves money,” Angel rubbed the space between his eyes in hopes of focusing his vision. “But Val . . .he . . .it’s not just money he loves. . .it’s . . .the control . . .”

He didn’t have the words for the glee he saw reflected in the dressing room mirror. And he didn’t want to describe it. 

“I’ve been around controlling men before,” Bridget said sullenly. “My father, the directors, dance masters . . .all wanting me that little porcelain ballerina in a music box. Lift the lid, I dance to the music, and close the box and I’m quiet and compliant.”

“Oh, Val ain’t gonna put ya inna box,” Angel muttered. “Unless it has glory holes and a bucket to collect 25 bucks per dick.”

Her brows knitted together into thin arches. “Must you keep being so crude.”

“Sista, you’re in the Life now. You get offended by ‘crude’, then you’re in the wrong business.” Angel realized he was holding a full shot glass and downed it. “I’d say get out while ya still can, but you already signed the contract so boo hoo to you.”

“Do you see me weeping?” Bridget scoffed. “Because the only one I hear whining about my signing on with Valentino is you and we both know why that is.”

“Watch it, sista,” Angel retorted. “I’ve forgotten more about being a whore than you’ll ever know.”

“Valentino thinks differently. You had a run and it was one good one, no doubt, but every run comes to an end,” Bridget ordered a shot and downed it as soon as she received it. “It’s up to you whether you crash and burn or go out in silence.”

“You whore . . .” Angel started.

“Aren’t we all?” Bridget returned.

“Ummmm . . .excuse me?” The bartender, a nervous looking octopus demon with multiple arms, who had been serving them a shot after shot, looked between them. “Maybe I should . . . cut you off?”

“Naw, I’m good, Charlie,” Angel muttered, eyeing Bridget up and down. “But I think you better fetch a hot cocoa for the little miss here.”

“No, I’m fine too. I want something stronger than this,” Bridget motioned towards something on the top shelf. “Hell Blood. That’s the ticket.”

In general, demon liquor was much stronger than the average human liquor, and Hell Blood was strong even for demons. Both Angel Dust and Charlie looked between the petite human and the bottle of Hell Blood and then at each other.

“Valentino ain’t gonna like it . . .” Charlie said as politely as possible. “And you already had enough . . .”

“Bring it down, Charlie,” Angel said. “If little miss things she can handle it, then pour her a shot of it. It’ll be funny to watch her pass out.”

“I can drink more shots than you.”

“Not a chance, babe.”

Angel took the first shot, and it rolled through him like lava. Coughing, he set the shot glass down and watched Charlie pour one for Bridget. “Want me to get someone to catch ya when you go down?”

“No need.” She tossed it back. Her pretty face screwed up, and she smacked the counter until the burning stopped. “As gentle as milk . . .”

“Ha! Alright, check this shit out.” 

After four shots between them, they were still standing. Angel felt something heaving up between his ribs, but he swallowed it back, refusing to give in. At least, not before the bitch does first.

She was bent over the table, coughing and humming to herself as she waited for the effects of the shot to calm. Her back was smooth with shell-like shoulder blades, and Angel could see Valentino’s wide, long finger hand stroking that pale flesh, teasing the curls, and closing those fingers around her throat in a loving caress. If Angel wasn’t afraid, he would keel over; he’d punch her right now.

“I’m good . . .” Bridget moaned, raising her head, her eyes glassy, almost tearful. Sweat beaded her face, and her lips were losing their color.

“You should stop,” Charlie said. “Lemme get ya water . . .”

“Gimme that,” Angel snatched the bottle from his tentacle and refilled an earlier shot, and tossed it back.

Oh god. It took all four of his arms on the bar and the stools to keep him upright. Trembling, he forced himself to stand straight and looked pointedly at Bridget. “Your turn, Irish Spring.”

Bridget looked at the bottom, and her eyes slid to him, her lips set in a tight line.

“Hey, no shame in backin’ down,” Angel mocked. “I’ll tell Val ya hadda turn in early . . . and I’ll cover your . . .”

“F-fuck you,” Bridget hissed and grabbing the bottle from Angel Dust . . .and unscrewed the top. 

Bridget brought the bottle to her lips with her head tilted back and drank Hell Blood as if it was an ice-cold Coca-Cola on a hot summer day. Angel stare nonplussed as each bob of her sculpted throat was a shot of the most potent liquor in the building. Then he remembered what Uncle Don had tried to teach him so long ago.

_ Never ever get in a drinking contest with an angry Irishman. They have bellies of the strongest and blackest iron and will drink napalm to win. You do that, you best save yourself the headache and pay up before you get started. _

Bridget sobbed when she stopped drinking, tears spilling down her cheeks. Standing on her own two feet, without leaning or support, she held out the bottle to Angel. “Y-y-your t-t-t-turn.”

Raising for the bottle, his vision swam, and he tottered. “Shhhhhhhhiiiiiit.” 

Then he fell over, taking a stool with him. He stood on his back, all limbs splayed out like a fly that’s been whacked with a newspaper. He was going to pass out; he felt it coming.

Bridget stood over him, dropping the bottle like it was a mic. She wasn’t much better off, but she was the one who was standing and weeping. “You stay down . . .it’s my turn . . .to shine . . .my Valentino,  _ my  _ Daddy . . .he said I’m a beautiful star . . .and I believe him. You’re nothing . . .just a mean, sad, washed up, hazbin . . .spider!”

Bubble filled with hate and so many angry insults rose to his throat but was dashed when the darkness claimed him. 

***

“So . . . they drank 500 dollars worth of liquor between them . . . in a drinking contest,” Vox didn’t bother hiding the mirthful smile spread across his screen. “Angel passed out and Princess has been in the bathroom for the last hour vomiting?”

“Oh yes . . .” Valentino muttered, glaring at the text from the manager of the VIP floor. “The clients circulated a bet on who would go down first. Odds in Angel’s favor, but every fool knows not to take on an angry Irish in a drinking contest.”

“So what happens to them now?” 

“I had Charlie toss Angel into a cab and Princess is gonna sleep it off at Pandora’s.”

“I mean what are you going to do to them?”

Valentino set the phone aside and laid back in countless pillows, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. “Imma have Angel do hetero while Bridget will be doing double shifts for a week.”

“Oh, you’re going easy on them,” Vox propped his chin (bottom of the screen) on a hand as he gazed at the Moth Pimp. “Why?”

“This . . .’rivalry’ shit they got goin’ works for me,” Val flashed a white grin, golden tooth gleaming. “Angel hasn’t worked this hard in years and Bridget wants the Life more than ever. She must be feeling better because I got texts from her begging me to have her star in a porno. Damn, I remember when I had to trick girls like her to fuck on camera.”

His chest and ruff shook as he laughed, smoke zigzagging through the air. However, his partner’s amusement faded a touch at the edges. 

“Val, rivalries can backfire. Remember twenty years ago, the leading actress of my studio threw acid into the face of the new up and coming starlet?”

“The only acid Angel knows is LSD,” Val replied, flicking ash into an ebony heart-shaped ashtray. “I know what I’m doin’, Voxxy. No need t’ worry. I got everything under control.”


End file.
